


A Certain Song at the Edge of the Universe

by retrovertigo (ellameno)



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Character Study, Dark Comedy, Disability, Existentialism, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fame, Families of Choice, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Real Events, Life Partners, Loss, M/M, Mid-life Crisis, Multi, Multiverse, Near Death Experiences, Neurodiversity, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Queer Themes, Science Fiction, Self-Acceptance, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Teleportation, Time Shenanigans, Trope Subversion, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:02:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 79,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24071848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellameno/pseuds/retrovertigo
Summary: Conjectural Technologies has a no good, very bad, time-and-space destroying day and learns the value of their relationships.
Relationships: Billy Quizboy & Pete White, Billy Quizboy/Pete White
Comments: 102
Kudos: 74





	1. Interlude - Danger, Danger, High Voltage

**Author's Note:**

> I spent a year writing this in tandem with a friend as a private exchange, expanding upon headcanon conversations and our own riffing on the lore and our relationships/ self discoveries as aro/ace or bi/pan. I'm about 50k in and pretty proud of it tbh, and I got permission to start posting it on Ao3 for my birthday this year. It might be a weird and confusing rocky roller-coaster but I ask you all to trust me on this. I feel like if you can handle this show you can definitely handle this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting notes: this takes place the summer after season 7, but I took some liberty with ages because the timeline makes no sense
> 
> CWs for this chapter: language, comedic references to drugs / body horror, some comments about weight/body image in respects to aging.

Though illuminated, the VenTech research lab laid dead still, all computers appearing to be off. Technically Friday was the ‘weekend’, so the odds that Dr Venture himself would catch his two scientists slipping in at half-past one were slim to none.

Billy exhaled in relief. “I think we’re in the clear,” he whispered.

“Hopefully the Sargent’s not a _narc_ too,” White replied.

“We brought him a cruller. We’re fine.”

They only got five steps.

“Well, well, well,” Rusty tutted as his employees attempted to tiptoe into the lab. They winced and noticed both him and Brock poring over documents in the conference area. “You two are late. Again.”

“I know, we’re sorry,” Billy said, alibi at the ready, “but this one _truly_ wasn’t our fault.”

“We had to hoof it to another station because some lunatic tied his arch to the subway rail,” White added.

Brock looked up. “Aren’t those things electrified?”

“Exactly,” Billy replied flatly.

“Ugh, God,” Rusty recoiled.

“It was gruesome,” White said.

“Horrible,” Billy agreed.

“The smell.”

“Some jerk’s losing their Guild card today, that’s for sure,” Brock said. “One more costumed freak off the street.”

“For the sake of my business, I hope St Cloud isn’t that inept with you,” Rusty said to his cohorts.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Billy hissed.

White pulled on his lab coat. “Yeah, the only reason I sleep at night is ‘cause I’ve seen the guy trip over his own cape.”

“Extremely lucky, considering you two are…” Rusty trailed off, and they turned to look at him. “No, no.”

“You were gonna say we suck at it?” White snipped.

“No, ‘new’, I was going to say you’re _new_ at it.” Rusty abruptly raised his chin. “Anyhow, let’s drop it— You’re on the clock, and we need to make up for lost time.”

“Lost time?” Billy asked. “What do we even do here but the scientific equivalent of dicking around?”

“With this salary?” Rusty scoffed. “Not anymore.”

“Depending on what it is, I might take the pay cut,” White said.

“I’m refining the teleporter,” Rusty said grandly. “Or, well, _you_ are, I should say,” he added.

“Uh huh,” White said with resignation. “ _Wait_ — Weren’t we supposed to destroy this for the good of humankind or something?”

Brock sighed. “Yeah, but now the Guild has the technology,” he glowered at Rusty, “so Pandora’s box is opened and the rest of us gotta fall in line.”

“So,” Rusty said, “that means we have to refine the tech even more for the OSI. _Or suffer the consequences_ ,” he added in a quick mutter.

“Refine how?” Billy asked. “It worked perfectly last time.”

“Or perfectly enough for people to get to and from a freakin’ _space lair_ ,” White added.

“Yeah, but according to them it doesn’t play nice with cybernetics,” Brock said. “Which is bad for our agents since we tend to be ‘augmented’ to a degree.”

Rusty nodded. “My theory is the molecular reconfiguration causes a sort of... _power surge_ throughout the wires and into the body…” He looked away. “So Billy, you dodged a bullet.”

Billy glared at White.

“Oh, how was I supposed to know,” White deflected.

“The point is you don’t just make your roommate a human guinea pig.”

“You never seemed to have a problem with it before.”

“What?” he balked. “I have a problem with it every time.”

“But ya still do it don’t you?” White asked flippantly.

“What if I died in a freak lab accident?” He threw his hands up. “What would happen to you then?”

“Uh, I’d become your mother’s favorite?”

“Unbelievable.”

“Boys, boys, can we stop the bickering?” Rusty interrupted. “It’s not cute when Hank and Dean do it, and it’s especially not cute when it’s two middle-aged men.”

“I’m thirty-eight,” Billy muttered.

Rusty shook his head. “Billy, any super scientist making it to _eighty_ is statistically impossible.”

“Cool,” Billy said joylessly, “like my day needed _more_ existential confrontations with my mortality.”

White smiled. “I say live fast and leave a pretty corpse.”

“Since when?”

“Since always,” White replied with a shrug.

“Your reaction to danger is to _literally_ use me as a human shield.”

“Yeah, I said a _pretty_ corpse.” He tossed his hair. “I’m not gonna take it in the face, pally.”

“ _Boys_ ,” Rusty warned.

“Are we boys or are we middle-aged men?” Billy asked. “Pick one.”

“Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed,” Rusty said and then cracked a smile. “White, you should be a good husband and switch places.”

White’s grin vanished. “Screw you.”

“Yeah, lay off, it’s hard enough at home.”

“Besides, we’re not even fake fiances yet,” White retorted with confidence, “we haven’t planned that far—”

“OK, enough of that,” Billy grumbled. “Can we _all_ keep work and home separate, for professionalism? And my sanity?”

Rusty clasped his hands. “Good. Would you like some tea?” They nodded. “Brock, pour us some chai.”

“When did I become a waiter?” Brock asked.

“I dunno, since you’ve been _waiting around._ ” Rusty gave a laugh but Brock didn’t even blink. He opened his mouth again.

“Yeah, I’ll get them some tea.”

“Thank you, Brock,” the roommates replied, neither having the guts to treat him as a maid.

“ _You’re_ welcome.”

“Oh I see, _well_ ,” Rusty said impudently, “if everyone’s turned against me for simply being the head of my own company, so be it.”

“Rust, don’t be dramatic,” White patronized as Rusty went to another computer with a huff.

Billy pulled out a pad and pencil, eager to knock out as much progress as he could on an abbreviated day. “Alright. Teleportation test,” he muttered to himself. “What could we use that’s organic and bionic—”

“You,” White said.

“ _Shut up and be useful,”_ Billy whispered reflexively as if he was only half-listening.

_“_ Eh, deserved,” White conceded as he dropped into a computer chair. “I already made that joke today. But if I make it a _third time_ , that makes it funny again.”

“White,” Rusty said, “you’ve never been funny on purpose, y’know.”

White snapped his fingers sarcastically. “ _Rhatz._ ”

Billy glanced up. “I could make a tiny augmentor for a rat, I guess.”

“That’s _fun_ ,” White chortled. “Give it a lil Billy arm.”

“What, via amputation?” Billy wrinkled his nose. “That’s harsh, dude.”

White looked away quickly. “Powerglove, then.”

“I was thinking more of an ‘arc reactor’…” Billy smiled, “ _but_ I do like the image of a rodent in a Powerglove.”

Brock set their mugs on the desk and they thanked him again. “Don’t get carried away, you two,” he said, “we got a bachelor party at the Power Strip, nine sharp.”

“Oh, right.” Billy looked up from his sketch. “The whole train ordeal made me forget the plan.”

“Yeesh and I’m not gettin’ back on that subway tonight,” White said with a shiver. “Can we get a cab with you, Brock?”

Brock looked them up and down. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

“We’re not going out to get numbers tonight or anything,” Billy said incredulously.

“Then as long as you don’t mind gettin’ there at seven. I promised Shore Leave I’d help with the decorations.”

“You’re seriously asking if we don’t mind leaving work early?” White asked.

“Right, why do I keep thinkin’ super scientists have work ethic.”

Brock left and Billy started searching the animal enclosures for a test subject.

White swiveled lazily in his chair. “Hey Rust, are you going to the party?” he asked.

“Oh, depending on the bar situation, I suppose I might make an appearance.”

_“C’mon,_ you own a skyscraper,” White said, “are you really that stingy about an open bar?”

Rusty grumbled something undecipherable that still dripped with sarcasm.

“I think this one is big enough,” Billy said as he arrived with a white rat.

White immediately scowled. “Why they gotta be albino rats, huh? — Are our lives worth less?”

Rusty sighed. “I don’t know, you’ll have to ask the supplier.”

“Actually,” Billy waved a hand in front of it, “their eyesight is poorer, therefore they’re less distracted by visual stimuli.”

“Well that makes me feel worse —” He stood from his chair. “We’re pickin’ on ‘em cause they’re blind.”

“Fine.” Billy held it out to him. “If it bothers you that much, go pick one of the brown ones we use for tracking genetic mutations.”

“Thank you,” White said belligerently and cradled it. “You know you would feel the same way if we were sacrificing runts of the litter.”

“Mmhmm, go do your job,” Billy replied, again not listening.

Billy quickly jotted down a rough design of a limb enhancement. Nothing complex or fully functional, just something to simulate the problem. He gathered his mini solder, magnifier, and a thin sheet of rolled metal and got to work.

“Alright. Billy Jr is ready for his moment,” White announced, setting a tawny rodent in a large empty beaker.

“Don’t name the lab rats,” Rusty said flatly.

“Especially not after _me_.”

“But look at him.” White smiled slyly. “Not only does he have a messed up limb, he’s kinda ginger and chunky too.”

“I am neither of those,” Billy said defensively. “I’m auburn and perfectly proportioned.”

There was a pause.

“ _Well_ ,” White started.

“I meant weight-wise.”

Rusty let out a sardonic laugh. “Oh, Billy, just you wait till you turn forty next year.”

“White’s over forty. He’s as disgustingly boney as the day I met him.”

“Aw thanks, fella,” White chirped.

“Yes, well,” Rusty scowled, “there’s something seriously wrong with him, then.”

White shrugged. “It’s the Adderall.”

Rusty turned to Billy as if speaking to another parent. “So he’s back to _drug abuse_.”

“No,” White fumed, “I got the attention deficit disorder, you prick.”

“ _Oh_.” Rusty gaped. “That explains… _so much_.”

“It’s amazing that we didn’t die during our time without corporate health care,” Billy said.

“’Specially with us two having an absolute _dumpster_ of weird genetics.”

Billy glared. “ _Please, dude,”_ he said sarcastically. “Literally everything about you is normal, except your pigment.”

“If that’s so, why’d I bomb so hard at my physical?”

“Because you think getting up off the couch counts as exercise.”

White seemed scandalized. “ _Nuh-uh_ , me and Colonel Gentleman do those yoga tapes!”

“Our archenemy has a sidekick who does fucking parkour, you _at least_ need to do cardio.”

“If you could bicker _while_ you work on my teleporter, I’d appreciate it.” Rusty stood up. “You two might also be content going to a party straight from work, but I have an image I’d like to uphold. I’m going upstairs to spruce up.”

“What, for five hours?” Billy said under his breath as Rusty left the lab.

“Five hours in the mirror ain’t enough to fix all that,” White added. “Therapy might, though.”

“I would _love_ some therapy,” Billy lamented.

“VenTech insurance doesn’t cover it, I checked. Which is weird, ‘cause folks like us are the first to go off the deep end.”

Billy looked away from his work. “Like us?”

White smirked. “Abnormally handsome geniuses.”

“Good answer.”

\---

Working on such a small scale was tricky, but Billy welded the limb in comparatively no time. He picked up the rat and gestured for White to grab the prosthesis.

“First, let’s try this guy—”

“ _Billy Jr,_ ” White corrected.

“ _The test subject_ with the cybernetic proxy.”

Pete frowned. “It’s not gonna hurt him, is it?”

Billy sighed. “This is exactly why you’re not supposed to name the specimens.” He paused. “Wait, _hold on_ — Didn’t you try to sacrifice me to this thing an hour ago — But a _fucking rodent_ is off limits?”

“Don’t take out your aggressions on an animal,” White scolded. “Only super villains do that.”

White slipped on the tiny prosthesis onto the rat’s stubby front leg like one would a cast, and then set it into a plastic box. Billy then placed the container onto the teleporter pad.

He backed away to meet White behind the protective screen. “Alright, let her go.”

“The rat’s a _him_.”

“I meant the teleporter.”

“What’re we, pirates?”

“Just _do it—_ ”

White pressed the button and a flash of blue light displaced the air in the room. But only once. The last live subject they tested didn’t take this long to appear on the other side. In fact, this one didn’t appear at all.

White crossed his arms in thought. “... Huh.”

“That’s…” Billy scratched his head with the pen. “Well.”

“So I guess the thing is a crapshoot, regardless.”

They stared for a few minutes longer but nothing turned up on the second pad.

White sighed. “Godspeed, Billy Jr, wherever you are.”

Billy shivered. “Ugh, now you gave me the heebie jeebies thinking about alternate dimensions.”

“Smart thinkin’, pally,” White encouraged, “maybe our parallel selves are scratching our heads over a cyborg rat.”

“I do feel kinda bad now sending a living creature into oblivion.”

“Well on the bright side, he didn’t show up deep-fried on the other pad.” White blinked. “I… I think that’s what Rust was alluding to.”

Billy groaned and walked away. “I’ve literally smelled enough cooked bodies today to last me a lifetime.”

“Mmn, speaking of which, I’m gettin’ peckish.” White walked over to their ‘food storage’, a repurposed specimen freezer. “Want me to rehydrate something?”

Billy crossed his arms. “I have no appetite. But I _do_ have an idea.” He turned to White. “We’ll try an analog for organic matter. How about a Hot Pocket?”

White took one from the freezer. “With or without the crisping sleeve?”

“What a stupid fucking question.” Billy paused. “With, of course.”

“Attaboy.”

Billy set it down straight onto the pad, like they had with their numerous apple tests. Once again the two hid behind the shield, but this time they heard two distinct whooshes.

White jumped out from cover. “Hell. Yes. We didn’t break it for good.” He half-jogged over to the second pad, and lifted the snack gingerly. “Billy, check it out,” White said giddily. “It’s cooked.”

“Alright, so.” Billy clicked his pen and jotted down notes. “Cybernetics = Overloaded. Rat = Vanished. Pocket = Hot.”

“Not just hot; perfect!” White said between chews as he headed back to his desk. “Wanna bite?”

“ _Ugh._ I thought escaping squalor would change you, but you’re totally feral.”

“Next time you beg for my snacks, I’ll remember how you insulted me.” He sat in his chair. “Anyhow, what’s next?”

“Hmm…” Billy walked towards the second teleporter in thought. “Maybe send something with wires only through. Let me just clean this fir—” There was a loud pop like a power surge. Billy drew his arm back as he fell, and then let out a guttural sound of frustration. “ _White,_ what the hell?!”

“I didn’t do it! There must’ve been some charge still in the machine.”

“ _Fuck._ ” Billy clutched at his elbow.

White made his way over. “You OK?”

“Yeah, I’m fine —” He poked at the seam where metal met flesh. “It just feels like I hit my funny bone but like, through my left side.”

“Well don’t have a stroke, now.”

Billy looked up in fear. “A-Am I having a stroke?”

“I dunno.” White knelt down. “I mean, I can’t really tell — It’s not like your face is entirely symmetrical with the eyepatch and everything.” He took Billy’s face in his hands and squeezed.

“What am I, part of the produce aisle? — Cut it out.”

“Does it hurt your head when I do it?”

“No, you’re just an idiot — That’s not how you diagnose a stroke.” He wriggled. _“Stop touching me._ ”

“Are you numb at all?” White asked.

He blinked. “I mean, I’m kinda tingly—”

“Should I slap you?”

Billy scowled. “If you slap me I will crush your windpipe.”

“ _Jeez_ , did it give you _roid rage_ too? Calm down.” He held out his hand. “C’mon, let’s get you off your ass.”

Billy accepted it, and White gently brought him to his feet, before patting him on the shoulder awkwardly.

“I am now _officially_ terrified of that thing and you can’t make me touch it,” Billy said.

“Yeah, I don’t fancy opening a wormhole by fucking with it any longer.” White shrugged. “Besides we have a party tonight, it’d be kinda rude to end the world.”

“Well, if neither of us are to blame, then what _was_ it?”

White took another bite of his snack and then studied it with narrowed eyes. “... Was it the Hot Pocket?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was only going to post this set up but since it's my birthday there's more for you!


	2. Disco Inferno (I Learn Through Suffering)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: same as the last chapter, but with drinking, sexual jokes / references, some internalized homophobia / self-esteem issues (it's for a character arc, bear with me).

Brock sniffed the air that reeked of cigarettes and bleach and spilled beer. “Nothin’ scarier than a nightclub with the lights on,” he said. White made an agreeing sound of disgust.

Billy eyed the cobwebbed disco ball that hung over the dance hall. “OK, when you said _Power Strip_ I was thinking like, strip club."

“For a gay guy?” Brock asked.

“For all I knew it was co-ed or something,” he said, a bit sheepish.

“Wait—” White smirked. “You thought we were going to see male strippers, and you still said yes?”

“If Brock’s going,” Billy replied with a shrug. “I figured whatever it was it was gonna be — as Hank says — _lit_.”

“This guy gets it,” Brock said.

There was a rattling from behind them, like marbles. “Brocky Horror Picture Show!” Shore Leave appeared from a beaded curtain. His shoulders fell. “Oh, you brought the queer bait.”

“We’re here to help,” Billy said happily.

“All hands on deck, huh?” He perked up. “In that case, welcome aboard. This your first gay club experience?”

“And only my third night club, period.”

“Aw you poor thing, that’s right, we had to rescue you.” His eyes moved to Pete White like he'd found a target. “How ‘bout you, Whitey? You ever dared to set foot? And be honest, I’ve interrogated double agents.”

He shrugged. “Eh, I played at ‘em through college.”

Shore Leave’s devious look vanished. “Really?”

“It was the 80’s, I specialized in new wave.”

“Ugh, I remember those days,” Shore Leave mused. “I was deep into euro-trash.”

“Oh, who wasn’t?” White asked.

“Me?” Brock said.

“Stay in your lane, babe, we’re talking about gay culture. Anywho, I need ribbons, stat.” He crossed his arms. “Now, I usually wouldn’t trust a straight man to tie a perfect bow but—”

“I’m your guy. My mother taught me,” Billy said proudly. “We volunteered wrapping gifts for the needy every year. I got pretty good at it.”

“ _You_ are an angel, I wanna put you atop of my non-denominational holiday tree,” Shore Leave said. “And _when_ will I meet your mother —? I have heard _stories_.”

“Good question. She's been asking why we don’t have more gay friends,” Billy said. “We should have you over for dinner.”

“Uh, yes! I’m worth like ten friends. You pick the time and I’ll be over with a cabernet and mom-friendly anecdotes about how fucking homosexual you two are,” he said pointedly at White, before gesturing over his shoulder. “Now, c’mon, all of you, VIP room.”

“Why the hell did he single me out?” White muttered.

“You’d know better than me,” Billy replied bitterly. “I’ve had my mind wiped an uncertain amount of times.”

“Oh sure. Uh, mine too,” White lied.

Once they went through the beaded curtain and up a set of stairs, they were baffled by the juvenile decor that greeted them.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Billy started, “but I think Homeschool Prom threw up all over the place.”

“It's not a bachelor party without a good dose of humiliation,” Shore Leave said as he opened a box.

“What kind of bachelor parties do _you_ go to?” White asked, despite attending none himself. “Is this, uh, ‘gay culture’?”

“It's how we do it in the OSI,” Brock said. “You gotta haze the guy for having the audacity to get hitched.”

“The same tactic works for both gay and straight,” Shore Leave explained. “If his last hurrah as a single man looks like a little girl’s sixth birthday, he's gonna be pissed.”

“Then Cinderella is a good choice,” Billy said, picking up a tiara.

“I almost went for My Little Pony, but I wanted it to be ironic, not have everyone wonder if he was a closet creep.” Shore Leave rolled his eyes. “Also the club owner needs the VIP room back by midnight, so I figured we’d make it a theme.”

“Midnight, huh?” White deflated. “That’s a bummer.”

“Oh _cheer up_ , you gloomy ghost, we’re still allowed on the general admission floor,” Shore Leave said with a shrug. “We’ll just have to leave our castle and mingle with the ugly stepsisters.”

“Maybe I’m naive, but I didn’t know you _could_ rent out a club,” Billy said.

White looked over in interest. “Yeah, how much did this cost ya?”

“I bribed the manager to let us take over most of it.”

“With what?”

“With his life,” Shore Leave said darkly. “Actually, I lied and said it was a celebrity event, so he could bump up the cover fee for those without an invitash. So act like you’re an eccentric billionaire or an, I dunno, Instagram influencer.”

“The fuck is that?” Brock asked.

“Like, a millennial huckster who sells tea that makes you shit yourself.”

White peered over a glittery flower arrangement. “If this gay bar is semi open to the public tonight, then does that mean...”

“Don’t be so embarrassing,” Billy preempted.

“Oh, so if some guy hits on you, what are you gonna do?” White asked defensively.

“Feel flattered?”

“Well, you haven’t lived your life with the accusations flyin’ at you." He noticed Shore Leave smirking again, and lowered his voice. "Be real with me; if tonight a guy makes a pass at you are you gonna go along with it? Follow him into the bathroom?”

“Maybe I’ll do something crazy like, I dunno, _be rational?_ ” Billy said sarcastically. “I’m just here for a night out with the guys — That isn’t a lie.”

“What if he’s some prick who doesn’t take no for an answer?”

“Just say you're taken like the rest of us,” Brock said, pointing to a fake band on his finger. “It’s what the chicks do all the time.”

“Yeah don't be a wad, White,” Shore Leave said, “just because straight men are rapacious neanderthals doesn’t mean we all are.” He then smiled. “ _Buuut,_ if you go to a gay bar looking like a strawberry shortcake, don't cry ‘no homo’ when a man wants a taste. You'll make _me_ look bad too.” He leaned towards Billy. “That said, if any rando gets handsy without your permish, lemme know. I'll snap ‘em off at the wrist,” he said, mimicking the motion for emphasis.

“Is it bad that I wanna see that happen?” Brock asked.

“Just like old times, my love.”

Billy turned away from his pouting roommate. “Brock, I gotta say; I’m impressed with your casual attitude toward the, um, _pet names_.” Something that he and his 'boyfriend' were still struggling through.

“They’re a compliment,” Brock said as if it were obvious. “Besides, I’m actually confident in my sexuality.”

White grumbled something.

“Honestly, it’s all a nice change of pace,” Brock continued. “I used to hate Shore Leave — not because he was gay but because he was a giant bitch.”

Shore Leave beamed. “I was the Regina George of the OSI. But after some close calls and a dash of Stockholm Syndrome, he stole my heart away.”

“I can relate to the Stockholm Syndrome,” Billy muttered.

White tugged at his jacket. “Maybe Shore Leave’s right — I should’ve worn something more frumpy.”

“Are we still talking about this?” Billy asked.

“Not frumpy,” Shore Leave parried, “just less Vaporwave Barbie.”

“The kids call it _pastel goth._ ”

“That's even gayer.”

Brock cracked his neck with a sigh, likely remembering why he didn't spend off-time with his old classmate. “Listen, man, just hold hands with Billy or something.”

“Yeah,” Shore Leave chimed in, “and if someone asks for a threesome, you throw your drink in their face like ‘how _dare_ you’. It’s fun.”

“Oh, so the married thing isn’t a cockblocker either?” White grumped. “That’s great.”

“Chillax, White; Nervous Nellies stand out like a sore thumb,” Shore Leave teased. “Every thirsty bitch around is gonna think you’re some newly divorced closet-case looking to pop his boy cherry.”

“Is that supposed to make me _less_ nervous? And besides, I don’t wanna do PDA anyway.”

Billy turned to him in disbelief. “Since when? You didn't have a problem pretending we’re a couple in front of mom's aerobics friends. You were pretty much milking it for the attention.”

“That's different. Our peers are gonna be here tonight — people we haven’t seen in a while — they’re gonna think we’re coming out or something.”

Billy and Brock stared back at him. “So?”

“ _So?_ You just don’t get it, do you?”

“What, internalized homophobia?” Billy asked flatly.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be profiled as ‘the gay albino’.”

“Honey, no one forces you to dress like that.” Shore Leave scoffed. “I’m actually jealous; it takes a lot of work to look this gay.”

“This is bullshit." He dropped his scissors on the table. "I'm here doing free labor and this is what I get.”

Brock pointed lazily. “He’s only doing it because you’re gettin’, uh... snippy.”

“Well, it’s a — what do they call it? A microaggression.”

Billy gave a short cynical laugh.

Brock shook his head. “Nah, that’s about stuff you can’t control. This is uh, what does Hank call it? Trolling.”

White shrunk away. “Can I exist in peace?”

“Yeah, like I said; stop gettin’ snippy.”

“ _Ugh_.”

“Can't we just have fun?” Billy pleaded. “I’ve never been invited to a bachelor party, let’s get rowdy.”

“How rowdy can we get when the only broads here don't play for our team?”

“Aren’t you forgetting some letters?” Billy asked. “The guy we pay rent to is bisexual. That super hot barista who looks like Ingrid from ‘Cobra’ is transgender.”

Brock snapped to attention. “God, really, like prime Brigitte Nielsen?”

“The hair and everything,” Billy replied.

“They don’t make movies like they used to,” Brock muttered.

“Listen, I’m just on edge today,” White said, unraveling a sign that had a lewd pun. “After the subway, and the teleporter— Maybe she put too many shots in my coffee.”

Shore Leave leaned over the bar. “ _Peter_ , if you’re a good boy I’ll let you deejay.”

White looked up with interest. “What’s the pay? I don’t work for free.”

“Pay—? I’m trying to do you a favor.”

“Yeah, but how do I know this wasn’t a ploy to get me to deejay your party pro bono?”

“Ummm...” Shore Leave dug into his fanny pack. “Drink wristbands?”

He paused. “ _Alright._ Then start me off with a gin and tonic.”

“Pre-game!” Shore Leave loudly clasped his hands. “I like it. I might be bad too.” He rifled through the bottles. “Maybe one lil shotsky. Quizboy, you want one?”

“Not if I want to last the night. _I’ve learned my lesson_ ,” he added quickly.

“See, that’s why I like you. You’re reliable.”

Billy flashed a smug look while White hissed “kiss-ass” under his breath.

“Oooh, maraschino cherries— How ‘bout a Shirley Temple to tide you _sober_?” Shore Leave asked, wiggling the jar.

“Count me in,” Billy said.

“Give the guy some dignity and call it a Roy Rogers,” White said, “we're adult men.”

“A Roy Rogers is made with cola, dipshit,” Billy said.

“I’ll have a Shirley Temple too,” Brock said, eyeing the grenadine. “My blood sugar’s a lil low.”

“Wait, then what’s a Shirley Temple?”

“Sprite,” everyone replied.

“Th-That sounds way better than cola.”

“Incredible what you've missed out on for your whole life by being a ninny,” Shore Leave replied, placing their two glasses on the wet bar. “Here’s your gin and tonic, _Macho Man._ ”

White swirled it with a furrowed brow. Billy watched the sulking and then held out his drink. “Wanna try?”

“No,” he mumbled. Billy smiled back. “What are you smirking about?”

“Dude, you are an enigma _._ ”

“If that means ‘cool’, then _yes, I am_.” Someone stormed up the staircase. White turned and immediately groaned. “Oh God, not you.”

Hunter Gathers pointed a finger. “What the Sam fucking Hill are _they_ doing here?”

“They’re our plus ones,” Brock said.

“This is a bachelor party, not a wedding dinner,” he scolded. “It’s more sacred, intimate!”

“We felt bad for them.” Shore Leave made a pouty face. “They’re sad little shut-ins.”

“You can meals-on-wheels these two on your own time!”

“This _is_ our own time,” Brock said, “it’s just a party.”

“Ah, that’s right.” Gathers lifted his head. “Habits die hard; All of us in a room usually means lives are at stake.”

Shore Leave crossed his arms. “Well _mine_ is, if I don’t throw the world’s greatest party for my ex.”

“Then what are we waiting for? Take me to the pole!”

“It ain’t that kind of club,” Brock said.

“Then why call it the Power Strip?!” Gathers shouted in frustration.

\---

After the party kicked off, White stayed close to the VIP wet bar, and later to Headshot and girlfriend Amber, as if desperate to keep any proximity to an attractive woman. Billy, a more social butterfly, attempted to mingle with anyone who would give him the time. Which mainly happened to be the agent bizarrely named Snoopy.

“I know, it sounds unbelievable, but Brock reported that Monstroso vanished into thin air,” Snoopy said. “And now that his last active shell company went quiet, all we know for certain is he’s MIA. Maybe even starting over.”

“He was definitely the _nicest_ villain to kidnap me, at least from the ones I remember.” Billy frowned. “But if he tries it again, I swear I’ll stab him in the Achilles, even if he _did_ get me certified — and laid.”

“Yeah…” Snoopy’s eyes darted. “And now I realize I probably shouldn’t have told you any of that, so if you don’t want to get your memory—”

Billy made a sweeping gesture from his head. “Already erased. The compaction of my hippocampus means I have a selective memory,” he joked.

Snoopy looked genuinely impressed. “Really?”

“Sure.”

Billy noticed Sky Pilot in a lounge with Rusty and a few others and decided to escape before Snoopy jeopardized his short-term memory again.

He approached the group with exuberance, but went rigid when he saw Gathers, chewing on an unlit cigarette and wearing a tiara over his cap.

“At ease, Doctor,” he said.

“Not while you’re around,” Billy mumbled, having odd flashes of being screamed at in a hatchback. He then cleared his throat and smiled at Sky Pilot. “Anyway, I came over to congratulate you on your engagement. I… still don’t know _who_ you’re engaged to, but—”

“Top secret,” Gathers said. Sky Pilot shrugged apologetically.

“So…” Rusty’s brow raised in interest, “It could be _anyone_ in this room.”

“He’s technically a bisexual,” Sky Pilot said, “so him and his brothers went to the strip club uptown.”

“ _They’re_ in a place of arts and culture,” Gathers declared, “not this Romper Room, suffocating on bubblegum vape clouds.”

Billy looked around at the blue and crystal. “You have to admit, we did a great job on the decorations.”

“Oh, _you_ helped out too?” Sky Pilot asked. “That’s a hell of a relief. I thought my ex worked overtime on a ball to win me back. Felt weird.”

“Shore Leave will never be the marrying type, and God love him for it!” Gathers said. “He’s like Samson, in a hot tempestuous affair with both service and sacrifice.”

“And violence,” Rusty added.

“A given!” Gathers shouted. “What man doesn’t love violence?”

Billy raised his metal hand. “The guy that has to sew you all back together?”

“Enough lip from you, John Dorian, you’re starting to sound like your worse half.”

Sky Pilot smiled. “Oh, that’s right! I hear you and the flour sack are an item.”

“I wonder who told you that,” Billy said rhetorically while Rusty smiled.

“For how long?” Sky Pilot asked.

“That’s a nebulous question. Half the time I hate him.”

Gathers raised a brow. “I was taking the piss, son, but I guess you two didn’t have much choice.”

“Don’t phrase it like that,” Billy said.

“I don’t know what you see in the bastard — his liver is as lily as the rest of him — but I respect love wherever it blossoms, as long as it doesn’t interfere with my job.”

“I hear he’s orally gifted,” Rusty said, “and I don’t mean on the radio.”

“Drop it or I’ll bribe Hank to hide laxatives in your food again,” Billy said.

“That was you?” Rusty recoiled.

“It was White’s idea 'cause you called him a ‘pillow queen’ at Thanksgiving dinner.”

Rusty swatted a hand. “There’s no way your mother knew what that meant.”

“She Googles gay slang to be ‘supportive’,” Billy said, turning pink, “I’m learning more from _her._ ”

Gathers shook his head. “Son, the details of Venture’s bowels is far more repulsive than your sex life’s could ever be. This is a gay bar, for heaven’s sake, a place without shame.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Sky Pilot said to Billy. “I always got a vibe off you two, what with the way he cradled you each time we turned your mind to soup.”

“He what?” Billy asked blankly.

Gathers clenched his fist. “Two men, trapped in a tin can for twenty years with nothing but each other? That’s a boiling pot for homoerotic tension, and also why the OSI is like a militarized pride parade.”

Rusty nodded while sipping a straw. “ _Mmn_ , yes Billy,” he leaned in, “when did you _know?_ ”

He’d had enough of his childhood hero’s taunting. “Probably around the time when you said if White was a woman you would’ve screwed him already?” Billy lied to Rusty’s horror.

“He _is_ infuriatingly feminine,” Gathers said.

Rusty finally stopped babbling in shock. “Wh-When did I ever say that?”

Billy raised his princess-adorned party cup and gave Sky Pilot a smile. “May you live happily ever after.”

\---

White wedged himself in a corner between the bar and the edge of the VIP section that looked down upon the ground floor. He stared off into space, dissociating to the rhythmic club beats until Billy approached with Rusty in tow.

“Oh, _now_ why are you pouting?” Billy asked.

“A VIP party sounded great, but really it’s a snooze.” He looked over their shoulders. “Besides, when I’m within a five-foot radius of those OSI guys they give me the stink-eye.” White leaned over the rail and stared down at the dance floor. “Now _they’re_ partying.”

Billy frowned. “I’ll take your word for it since I can’t see over the kick guard.”

Rusty peered over as well. “Ooh, I see a flock of feather boas down there — Do you think it’s a bachelorette party?”

Billy stared blankly back. “Y’know, it’s a good thing Amber Gold has a boyfriend ‘cause women come to gay bars to _not_ get hit on by dudes.”

“You make it sound so salacious,” White griped. “Think of it as uh, networking... with our fellow straights.”

“Yeah that sounds worse, actually,” Billy deadpanned.

“Well, _I’m_ going down there,” Rusty said and fixed his tie. “I’m not afraid of a little male attention. Raves are full of over-friendly folks of indeterminate gender hopped up on E. Of course, I was also on E, but —”

“When?” White demanded.

“Oh…” Rusty squinted in thought, “I want to say 2005?”

“You went to raves and did party drugs?” White groaned. “Without _me_?”

“I was going through some dark times, White, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh sure, I lived fifteen Colorado winters before we could jerry-rig proper heating, but it’s _so hard_ to be Rusty Venture.”

“Call me when you’re a single parent. And now that my boys are grown, let’s get daddy some E.”

“Uh, as a doctor I’d advise not to take those!” Billy shouted after him. “At your advanced age…” he trailed off.

“Advanced age?” White scoffed. “Christ, I’m only two years younger.”

“OK, but he’ll be fifty real soon, and internally I _know_ he’s aged worse.”

“Aw jeez, don’t talk about turning fifty.” He pounded back the rest of his drink.

“Well now you know how I feel.”

“Forty isn’t bad.”

“My memory is patchy, but I’m pretty sure you cried.”

“I was worried about my hair. I didn’t wanna go back to wearing wigs.”

“You would wear wigs? You’re an attractive man, have some dignity.”

White again stared at the dance floor. “Brock and Shore Leave are out there.”

“Dude, then let’s go!” Billy waved his arms. “Why are we hiding out up here — These OSI guys suck. Every time I hear Gathers yelling, I get PTSD.”

“I don’t like these songs.” White crossed his arms. “What is this, dubstep?”

“Let’s get a drink and camp out until Shore Leave barters your way into the deejay booth.”

White looked at him hesitantly. “Y’think he would really do that?”

“He’d do it for me, I bet.” Billy smirked and daintily put his hand under his chin. “I’m a kiss-ass, remember?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could get paid to write Shore Leave for the rest of my life. One more to go for the set-up!


	3. Mid-Life Crisis! At The Disco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: Same as previous chapter, with some uncomfortable misunderstandings, antagonistic behavior (idk I'm just paranoid). You've seen this show, you know the tone.

“No, no, no!” Rusty shouted. “This is all wrong!” He jiggled the glass at the bartender. “It’s not Baileys and cherry bounce — It’s Khaluha, Hershey’s Syrup and Kool-Aid!”

“Sir, I am trying my best to make this… uh… ‘call for help’ of a drink.”

“ _A call for_ — Have you never had a chocolate-covered cherry in your life?” he barked incredulously. The bartender shrugged and tended to other patrons. Rusty turned back to his colleagues. “The absolute nerve. I mean I know the gays like to ‘read’, but this is just bad service.”

White blinked drunkenly. “Yeah, that wasn’t a read, that was more of an intervention.”

“Whatever,” Rusty huffed. “ _Billy_ likes my drinks, he appreciates mixology.”

Billy gave a noncommittal shrug.

“He didn’t have much of a choice,” White answered for him. “For his 21st birthday all I could give him was melted Otter-Pops in the stuff we used for sterilizing.”

“I thought I had internal bleeding, but it was just the food coloring coming back up,” Billy reminisced. “It’s a wonder that I didn’t go straight-edge then and there.”

Rusty handed him the glass. “Well here, you can have this abomination.”

Billy sipped it and straightened in surprise. “Dude, try this,” Billy offered it to his hesitant roommate. “It’s like that cherry coffee they make on Valentine’s.”

White nervously took a drink, and then stared at it. “Oh, that’s _good_.”

Rusty looked away in disdain. “I know what this is; you two are ganging up on me for the _one_ thing I said at Thanksgiving.”

White narrowed his eyes. “Even if I were gay, there is no conceivable universe where I get topped.”

“I was speaking more towards your lazy and selfish nature. When have you gone out of your way for poor Billy’s sake?”

Billy raised a brow. “OK, that one tracks.”

“C’mon, you think I wouldn’t put in the effort?” White asked Billy.

“Have you ever?”

“You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you’ve never experienced me in bed,” White snipped.

“For good reason.”

He leaned in angrily. “If we were gay, I would blow your mind.”

Billy shirked away. “OK, _jeez._ ”

“Oh I am not drunk enough to listen to this,” Rusty announced and stood up. “So _I’m_ going to find someone in this gay bar who actually knows how to service a man.”

“That was some phrasing, pal,” White said. He glanced over at Billy for approval, but he was staring into his drink, chin in hand. “What’s eatin’ you?”

“It’s great to know that the only way you’d be nice to me is if you wanted to screw me.”

“Oh, c’mon, I _am_ nice. You had a birthday cake every year—”

“That _you_ picked the flavor of—”

“I single-handedly looked after you for like two decades.”

“I was basically your live-in maid.”

“I thought we put that all in the past — I was severely unmedicated, and you wouldn’t allow drugs in the trailer,” he glowered. “I said I’d make more of an effort at home, and I did — and now I live in a house with you, and three others, and I _still_ wash dishes without even being asked.”

Billy stared at him for a moment, and realized that yes, his roommate was actually proud of such a minor improvement. “Alright, I’ll give you that. But you could start folding laundry too.”

White held out his hand. “Deal, but only if you don’t nag me about it.”

“Whatever.” Billy shook it.

White looked around for Rusty and did a double take over his shoulder. “Hot chicks headin’ our way, eight-o-clock,” he whispered as the two sat down. “One for each of us.”

“I told you,” Billy said into his drink.

“You think they’re into guys?” He sighed and added: “ _Older_ guys?”

“Maybe you should talk to _them_ , not me.”

White took a large sip. “Right.” He cleared his throat. “Why am I so nervous?”

“You’re off your game,” Billy shrugged. “Which is generous, since you didn’t have any to begin with.”

“Screw you,” White hissed and Billy smirked. “That’s no way to speak to your wingman.” He daintily waved to them with a charming facade. “Hey, how’s it going? You with the party?”

The blonde smiled. “No. We heard there were influencers attending.”

“That so?” He puffed up. “I can be very influential. And persuasive. I was a TV host.”

They seemed impressed. “What show?” she asked eagerly.

“Ah, I don’t drop names,” he deflected. He’d been trying hard to bury his disgraced past in web search results.

“And what do you do now?” she inquired.

“My partner and I brainstorm ideas and then sell ‘em to ridiculously rich folks.”

“We actually want to make a business ourselves,” her brunette friend replied with interest. The blonde nodded.

“Really. Y’know, me and Billy here owned a start-up sold for an obscene amount of simoleons.”

Billy shrugged. “It was dumb luck but—”

“Luck is nothin’ if you don’t have the know-how,” White interrupted.

“Are you quoting my _mom_ now?”

“I mean she’s right, isn’t she?”

The women giggled. “You two are super cute,” the blonde said.

“Y’think so?” White nudged Billy with his knee.

“Yeah,” she replied, “I would love what you have.”

“What?” White laughed. “Oh no, we—”

“How long have you been together?” her friend asked.

“Over two decades,” Billy sighed.

They cooed in admiration. White again nervously flitted his hand. “He means we’ve been livin’ together that long — roomies, y’know.”

“Are you married?” the brunette asked as White babbled nonsense.

“We’re not,” Billy said.

White shook his head. “We’re not even—”

A cell phone buzzed loudly against the counter. “Ugh, sorry,” the blonde said as she picked it up, “My phone is — _Tanya is texting me again_.”

The brunette hopped down from the bar stool, peering around the club for this ‘Tanya’, as the other woman glared at a phone in frustration.

White turned back quickly. “Billy, we might have a chance with these two.”

Billy gave him an incredulous look. “Have they been giving you doubles?” he asked, jabbing at White’s empty glass.

“If they’re upset with a friend, they’ll probably go somewhere with us just to spite her.”

“Are you a goddamn pickup artist now? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Trust me — That’s how I lost my virginity.”

“That’s honestly _depressing_.”

“ _C’mon_ ,” White whined. “I’ll take the chatty one and you can have her nerdy friend.”

“You are delusional,” Billy scoffed.

“Is this seat taken?” asked a deep voice.

“No,” the girls said.

White whipped around. “Well, actually I’m—”

“Sorry ladies,” a very fit, tanned man said to the women beside him.

“Go ahead,” the blonde smirked. “We’re just waiting for a friend.”

The man turned to White. “What are you drinking?”

“Whatever gets me through the night,” White replied with a defeated sigh.

The man laughed and gestured for a refill on White’s drink. “Well, I couldn’t help but notice you.”

“Figures.”

“You new around here?”

White said nothing, so Billy took the initiative. “Admittedly we don’t get out much.”

“And I’ll take the drink, so long as it’s not conditional,” White added.

“Oh no, no, it’s a gesture. To new faces.” The man raised his own glass. “Is he with you?” he asked Billy.

“Yep.”

“ _Nope,_ ” White replied at the same time.

The man blinked. “Is this a wingman or boyfriend situation?”

“Neither,” White said.

“So you _don’t_ know each other?”

Billy smiled. “We live together.”

“Look, we like women, OK, that a problem?” White said as he tried to keep tabs on the pair of girls.

“No. I’m bisexual too.”

“No. I mean: we’re _looking_ for women.”

The man put a hand on his chin in interest. “ _Oh,_ are you two like polyamorous?”

“Depends,” Billy replied.

“No it doesn’t!” White retorted.

“ _I_ have been with multiple women at once,” Billy said smugly.

“And none since.”

The man waved with a laugh. “Wait, wait, let me guess. You’re the kind of guys who like to _share_ everything.”

“ _Ew_ ,” White groaned.

“Personally I’m more romantic than that,” Billy said.

“Billy, you don’t have to answer any of his questions.”

“No need to get defensive,” the man said, “I’m a free spirit myself, I’m just gettin’ a feel.”

“Well, we’re not looking for a third, so if you try to _feel_ anything on either of us I’ll call my friend over and have him ‘snap your wrist’,” White said with audible vexation.

Billy nearly pushed White off of his seat in a panic. “Excuse my boyfriend, he’s an angry drunk.”

“I am not, and I _am not!_ ” White hissed back.

The man gave an unaffected shrug and walked away, and so did the women.

“No. _No, c’mon, I’m not_ …” White pleaded, but they didn’t even glance back. He turned to Billy with a scowl. “Look what you did.”

“What?” Billy scorned. “You were super rude to that guy, I was covering your ass so you didn’t get us thrown out.”

“You were humoring him!”

“I was not! I was literally letting him down as gently as possible!”

“This is bullshit — Those women were interested in us until _he_ came along.”

Billy let out an annoyed growl. “No, they _weren’t_ , they thought we were gay businessmen!”

“Oh, so you knew this and you didn’t pipe up, huh?” White clenched his newly filled drink. “You just have to screw everything up for us—”

“I just wanted to go out and have some fun, but no! You have to ruin it by being a raging homophobe!”

“Oh, fuck you.” White shot back in ire. “After everything I’ve been doing for you and your mother, you have the gall to call me homophobic?” He jabbed his fist. “Huh?!”

Unfortunately, his fist still held a full drink, which splashed all over Billy’s face and jacket.

White froze. “I... I didn’t mean.”

“Real fucking mature,” Billy said softly. He struggled to get down from his seat and White reached out. “ _Don’t touch me.”_

He squeezed his way through the crowd, past the lines for private gender neutral bathrooms and into the main men’s room. Before the door could close, White slipped inside with him. Billy noticed him and groaned.

“Go. Away.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose,” White insisted.

“You know what?” Billy whipped around. “I’m not sure which is worse. You throwing a drink in my face or you being an embarrassment that I have to go home with.”

White swallowed and the other occupants awkwardly hurried out to give them space. “I-I don’t buy that, it was an accident — You’re acting like this is the first time I’ve knocked a drink over—”

“I don’t see anything wrong with people thinking I’d date another man, but I _do_ have a problem with them thinking I’d date a drunken _slob_.”

“Listen — It wasn’t…” White nervously tugged at his earring. “It wasn’t the gay thing this time I —”

“Sure.” Billy was struggling to take his damp jacket off his arm, his metal fingers twitching as if it were a spasm.

White took a cautious step forward. “Do you…”

“Stupid hand,” he muttered.

White drunkenly tried to grab ahold of Billy’s jacket, but fumbled. Billy pulled away, but White continued trying.

“Stop touching me, you dick,” Billy snapped.

White shot upwards and stared. “Yeah. That’s all I am, huh?” he said quietly.

“God.” He threw his jacket into the sink and pushed himself up to the lowest counter. “And a drama queen too.”

“I’ll never touch you again, how ‘bout that?”

“After a day like this, that’d be a dream come true!” Billy said, glowering at him in the mirror.

“Well fine. I’ll fuck off and leave you alone. Jump in the river while I’m at it, eh?”

“You’re such a pain in my ass.” The door slammed. Billy looked back into the mirror, but White had left. “And you never even say you’re sorry,” he murmured.

A new song echoed over the bathroom speaker, bouncing off the tile. The singer let out a slow breathy warble as a disco beat grew, and Billy sighed, imagining a dance floor full of people. He patted paper towels on his clothes and could smell the gin still wafting, stinging his eye. That had to be why everything was blurring.

\---

“Welcome back,” said a voice as Billy returned.

Billy turned to find it. “Huh?” Brock and Shore Leave stood by a tall table. “Oh.”

“Oh, c'mere, you look a mess —” Shore Leave fixed his damp hair and Billy knew better than to slap away an assassin.

Brock raised his brow. “Were you crying in the bathroom?”

Billy wiped his eye in embarrassment. “No, I… I got gin in my face.”

“Yeah, we _all_ noticed your little lovers’ tiff,” Shore Leave said. “‘ _Avoid the men’s room, some nerds are breaking up.'_ ”

Billy groaned and looked around. “Did he leave?”

“He grabbed Venture and went out Kinky Boots-ing to Baccara’s hit song.”

Billy squinted out at the crowd. “You’re kidding me. He went out to dance after throwing a fit all day?”

“ _Yep_ ,” Shore Leave sneered.

“I think I saw him trying to impress a drag queen,” Brock said. “Guy is wasted, so, he probably won’t see the irony.”

Billy deflated. “I’m sorry I have such an embarrassing roommate.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, honey, it’s my fault,” Shore Leave said bitterly.

“What? _How?_ ”

“I should’ve never invited a man so far in the closet to a gay bar. It’s like taking a nun to a burlesque show.”

A commotion erupted on the dance floor; multiple groups of people shouting angrily.

“Ugh, what now?” Shore Leave huffed.

Brock set down his bottle. “I got this.”

Shore Leave smacked his arm. “No! We’re off the clock.”

“The Doc’s down there, I gotta keep him safe.”

“Maybe you got confused by the leather, but this isn’t a _biker bar_ ,” Shore Leave groaned as Brock stormed out to the floor, and a group of agents followed.

Billy backed away from the chaos. “Uh, is this normal?”

“No, but then again how do you predict which costumed crazies have beef at any moment.” He held the drink close to his lips. “Assholes, ruining _my_ party.”

The brawling crowd parted a bit, and they could see Brock trying to wrangle someone dressed like Marie Antoinette. She was having none of it and swung her fist at Brock.

“Jesus Christ, lady!” he exclaimed.

“I’m not a lady.”

“I’m sorry, I was distracted by the Elizabethan gown!” He ducked again. “Who the fuck are you swinging at?!”

“Where’s that anemic looking pink bitch? You let me at him!”

“He left!” Rusty shouted, cowering behind another queen. “ _Now_ will you calm down?”

Shore Leave turned sharply to Billy. “You know what, tell your faux beau he can fuck off,” he said and Billy winced. “I’d be a hypocrite to say your little act is wrong, but _he’s_ toxic as hell.”

“I know,” Billy replied meekly.

“So why are you enabling him?”

“I…” Billy was flummoxed and Shore Leave gave him a more sympathetic expression.

“You’re a nice guy, but you’re probably too nice. Once upon a time I was just like you, I let men use me up and walk all over me.” There was more commotion in the crowd. Shore Leave rubbed his temples. “ _Ugh,_ I can feel his bullshit clogging up my pores. Maybe that’s why they call them _white_ -heads.”

Brock turned around. “Hey Shore Leave, can you talk to your people?” Something crashed. “ _Who keeps throwing bricks?!_ ” he bellowed.

Shore Leave frowned and turned to Billy again. “Listen, you should find a good place to hide or scram. This is a bar brawl between special ops queers, and if someone calls the cops then it’s gonna get ugly.”

“Are we…" Billy hesitated. "Are we still good?”

“Huh?” He blinked. “Like _friends_ or something?”

Billy could hear the ‘mean girl’ in the other’s voice and shrugged nervously. “Will you still come to dinner?”

Shore Leave sighed, and they heard more yelling as Gathers entered the fray. “I dunno,” he said gravely. “I’ll have Brock pass on a message, depending on how big the body count gets.” Billy nodded and the burly man cracked his knuckles and strutted out onto the dance floor. “DJ, we need better ass-kicking music,” he shouted and Blondie rumbled over the speakers.

Billy flattened against the wall and nervously pulled out his phone. He fumbled through his contacts, confused as to why his roommate resided so far down on the recent list. But the explanation was just that; the pair hardly found time to spend apart.

The outgoing call rang, and his gaze darted around the scuffle. Something small slid across the ground, catching his eye with its glow.

He realized it was White’s phone.

“Really? He left his— _What an idiot._ ”

Billy cautiously ran out to the fray, narrowly avoiding the agents three times his size, and kicked it further to safety. He then shoved it into his pocket, and watched the brawl for a few moments.

“You know what, fuck this,” he said no one, before storming to the exit.

A few of the patrons waited outside, chatting angrily with cell phones in hand.

Sirens wailed in the distance, heading for an unknown destination.

“Well, Brock will probably murder someone,” he grumbled. So Shore Leave as a future dinner guest was out of the question.

In this metropolis Billy could easily call a cab, or just wait outside for the inevitable mass exodus and travel home with his once-neighbors. But his ‘boyfriend’ was adrift in New York without a phone and needed rescuing. A rational person would head for home, but two decades taught him White was all about grand displays of resentment.

“If I was a melodramatic loser, where would I go?” He played back their argument in his head. “The river,” he groaned.

\---

There was nothing more pitiful than seeing Pete White curled up on a park bench, head in his hands like _he’d_ been the one humiliated in public.

“Goddammit White,” Billy shouted as he approached. White’s head shot up and he stared back in shock. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“What? You…” White babbled. “You came all the — I…”

“You left your phone. What was I supposed to do?” He dropped it into White’s lap and pulled out his own. “I’m texting Brock that I found you, so that French revolution queen can publicly execute you — Why did you bail?”

White regained his combativeness. “It was getting heated!”

“You could’ve gotten someone to help you out, we were with a team of secret agents.”

“You all told me to fuck off.”

“Yeah but not for you to wander New York City drunk, and stumbling, and wind up in the Hudson after getting mugged,” he scolded and White looked jolted. “I mean, a weirdo tried to lure me into his van two blocks down — It sucks going anywhere in this city alone, so thanks.”

“Right. _Christ_.” He pinched his brow. “You’re right I... I forget what a jungle this place is.”

“Well, granted drunk-you has never made wise decisions.”

White drew in a breath. “I miss home. I miss the Rockies — Remember how nice the summer was?”

“Now you’re just complaining to complain — You hated desert summers.”

“Yeah, but I never realize what I got until things change.” He looked at the skyline. “The air was so fresh and New York smells like hot garbage and piss.”

Billy sighed. “Do you wanna take the subway or should I get us a lift?” White said nothing, but sniffled. “Are you crying?”

“No.” White wiped his eyes.

“What is _with_ you tonight?”

“I dunno.” He ran both hands through his hair. “I dunno! Maybe I’m freakin’ out, y’know? About life.”

“Life’s good,” Billy reassured.

“Is it? I mean, you’re still young-ish. Now the kids are shackin’ up with sweethearts and our friends keep gettin’ hitched, and I’m in a fake relationship.” He gripped his knees. “Livin’ this weird lie where I got it all, but I don’t really. It’s just pretend. And everyone knows it but your ma.”

Billy awkwardly gave him a pat on the arm, in an attempt to be reassuring. “Let’s go home,” he said. “I smell like gin and I wanna shower.”

White nodded lethargically and stood up on wobbling legs. They slowly walked out of the park and to the curb together.

“Why did you start a fight?” Billy asked.

“I didn’t mean to,” White said with remorse. “My phone fell outta my pocket, and when I went to grab it, I slipped and accidentally groped a guy while trying not to eat concrete.” He gestured wildly. “And _he_ pushed me into the double d’s of another guy’s boyfriend — who I thought was his girlfriend — and I think he assumed I was tryin’ to cop a feel. Or something?” His shoulders slumped. “I’m drunk.”

“Why didn’t Rusty vouch for you?”

“Oh, he made it _worse_ by insisting I’m straight. I remembered what you said about it making me look like more of a jackass than I already am.” He seemed dejected. “You would’ve known what to say. Everyone likes you.”

Billy offered a small smile. “We’ll wake up in the morning and mom will have breakfast waiting and you’ll forget why you were even upset. It’ll just be another one of our stupid stories.”

“Promise?” White asked softly.

“That’s how it works with us, right?” Billy said and pulled his intoxicated roommate by the hand as they crossed the street.

White gripped tight as if afraid they’d be separated, or perhaps just because he wanted to, and Billy remembered all the reasons why he stayed.

“So you just _ran?_ ” Billy asked.

“Everyone was so much bigger than me — they’re all gym rats in high heels.”

Billy laughed and White finally smiled.

A bright flash of light followed a sound so cacophonous they swore the universe was being cracked in half like an egg. Then everything went black as they felt the impact, hard as concrete against their bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this far, the set-up is complete! I originally posted these three parts on another blog and I'm polishing up what I have finished but I'm going to let these sit as a buffer for now as I complete other obligations. I'll likely post previews for them so if you're interested check that out.
> 
> I don't think I've ever had more fun writing a fic than getting to write these character voices and interweave things that I knew would make my friend laugh or cringe or what-have-you, and I hope I've hooked you enough to stay and see what happens.


	4. Tech-No-Logical World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, thank you for reading this far!
> 
> CWs: same as before, but with a bit more Danger

“Jesus fuck,” White muttered.

“What’s wrong?” Billy asked instinctively through his disorientation.

“I’m... so dizzy.”

Billy shifted his legs, feeling something hard against his hip bone under him. Memories resurfaced in his cloudy mind. The subway incident, the teleportation test, the bachelor party — After his exhausting day he must have collapsed in their bed with his phone still in his pocket.

Until he realized he wasn’t in bed at all.

He peeled his cheek from the floor with a soft groan. His head pounded and vision blurred from the pressure against his eye. Once things focused, there wasn't much to see to begin with. The room was nearly pitch, save for thin rays of light cascading onto tile. Billy felt around and knocked his elbow into a solid object beside him. He hissed as it surged through his arm in the same way that teleporter had, and he cautiously rolled away from it.

“White?” he asked, sensing no movement from the man crumpled near him. “Are you—”

“Just give me a sec,” White replied.

Billy flipped onto his back and struggled to sit upright, but as he did he a lumbering figure appeared like a shot in front of him, somehow darker than anything else in the room.

“ _Not today, motherf_ — Oh.”

“Brock?” Billy asked, knowing the voice instantly.

Brock’s shoulders relaxed. “Sorry, man. Everyone was accounted for and I... Christ, I’m glad I didn’t _shoot_ you.”

“That makes two of us,” Billy said as he again attempted to pick himself off the floor, and Brock hoisted him up.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Brock asked with his casual air. “Don’t tell me you had another lab accident.”

“Did he tell you about that?” Billy rolled his shoulders. “It was just a power surge.”

“You know Doc told you to wear proper protection — Eye glasses won’t save you.”

“What are you talking about?” Billy pawed at his face but nothing felt out of the ordinary. “And where are we any—”

Brock’s watch lit up the darkness. “Brock, what’s going on?” Rusty’s voice demanded. “Is it Malcom again?”

“Nah, it’s Dr White in the lab.”

“What the hell is he doing here?”

“I’m still waitin’ for him to tell me.”

“You mean Dr Whalen,” Billy corrected.

“Yeah, I’m _just_ White,” his roommate said, finally crawling to his feet as he cradled his head. “Which is ironic since I’m the only one here who finished college.”

“Hold on — They're _both_ here?" Rusty asked, nearing anger.

“Why _wouldn't_ he bring the ball and chain?” Brock muttered.

“This is absurd," Rusty grumbled, "I'm coming down at once."

 _“Wait, wait.”_ Brock gave a quick laugh. “Are you two here pullin’ some kind of prank to get back at the...” The confused smile slipped away. “What the…?” He stared White down and then made a vague gesture at his own illuminated face. “Are you…?”

White straightened his jacket. “What? Did you fry your circuits, what is wrong with you?”

“Uh...” Brock’s eyes darted between them. “Are you two... OK?” he asked with quiet concern. “Did something happen?”

Billy and White peered at each other, expecting to find the answer, but aside from the watch's ambient light the room was thoroughly dark.

“I’m confused how we got here and my arm feels like an ant farm,” Billy said, “but we’re not hurt or anything.”

“Speak for yourself,” White said. “I think I bruised my brain.”

“Because you’re hungover.”

“Nah, nah, this is different, it’s like I got what you got.”

Billy sighed. “Your cerebrum is not being compressed from the inside out, _trust me._ Though I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a concussion.”

“Great, that’s just what I need.”

Billy turned back to the perplexed agent. “What even happened last night?” he asked.

White squinted up at Brock too. “Yeah, I don’t remember a thing past leavin' the club.”

“How should I know? I'm not _your_ bodyguard,” Brock said, still befuddled. “Did you two take party drugs or something?”

Billy’s face flooded with fear. “Wait, do you really think we could’ve gotten drugged?”

“Ew, did someone roofie me?” White drew in his arms. “Is that why I feel so gross?”

The doors opened, spilling a bit more light into the room, and Rusty entered the room clad in a bathrobe and what appeared to be a shower cap. “What’s this all about? How in God's name did you get in a _locked lab_?”

“We don’t know, OK?” White moaned.

“They’re drunk,” Brock said.

“Formerly drunk,” White corrected.

“Blackout drunk, hmm?” Rusty tutted.

“They might be high on something too,” Brock added.

Rusty turned to Billy. “I thought you were the _responsible_ one, Dr White.”

“Dr _who —?_ ” Billy rubbed a temple, realizing Rusty was teasing. “I’m getting tired of the needling, as if I’d ever want the last name of the guy who ruined my life.”

“Low blow, jerk,” White replied. “As if I even wanna be your husband anyway.”

“No, don’t tell me you two actually broke up tonight,” Brock said. Occasionally he’d been a force pushing them back together.

“Very funny,” White said. “Does the government recognize you and Rust as ‘common law’ yet?”

“Is that a stone you think we can throw?” Billy asked White dryly.

“Oh...” Rusty adjusted his glasses and shone his watch light on Billy, who winced. “Good God, what happened to you?” White bent down to look closer as well and Billy pushed him away. “You look like shit.”

“Oh thanks.”

White shrugged. “Eh, we had a rough night, I guess.”

Rusty turned the light to White, who cursed until he moved it away. “And you’re... How’d you grow your hair out so fast?”

“OK, I get it.” White rolled his eyes. “Fun prank. We blacked out, and you decided to teach us a lesson.”

“A lesson?” Rusty balked. “Why would I waste my time --?”

“Or you teleported us or something,” White said, looking around the dark lab. “Great job, you fixed it yourself, and it didn't even fry Billy.”

Billy rubbed his temple. “Last thing I remember was like... A crazy noise and a light.”

“Oh jeez, me too,” White said with realization. “Then it felt like I hit a wall.”

“Did we get hit by a car?” Billy squeaked.

“That’s mental. How would we wake up _here?_ Or be alive, even?”

“You’re right.” Billy blinked hard. “I’m... Can we get some ibuprofen and an Uber home please?”

“Did you say a Newber?” Brock asked.

“Fine. A cab.” He turned to White. “Mom’s gonna kill us.”

“Brock,” Rusty asked, “fetch these two something from the first aid kit?”

“You got it,” Brock said, though he moved hesitantly.

“And _my God_ , who reeks of booze?”

“That would be Billy,” White said.

Billy gestured emphatically back at him. “This dickhead threw a drink on me.”

“Spilled.”

Rusty crossed his arms. “You two really _were_ running amok.”

White scoffed. "I mean, not anymore than you, Doctor 'Daddy Wants E'.”

“Brock, would you turn on a light as well?”

“Nothin’ too bright!” White called. “I really do feel like hell.”

The fluorescents shot on one by one and Billy turned away.

“ _Woah, Rust_ ,” White exclaimed, and then chuckled. “What's that rug your head —? I thought we were done with the toupees.”

“What? Oh, you cut that out — This is _my_ hair.”

“Can we drop the pranks, _please,_ ” Billy groaned as he shielded his eye from the intensifying light. “I really think I’m getting a migraine.”

Brock approached, holding the kit. “Hey, I know this is a... weird question, but... Mr. White, have you always been, uh... _so_ literal to your name?”

“Are you seriously asking me if I was _born_ fucking albino? You think a witch put a curse on me? How insensitive can —”

Billy gasped, making White jump. “Oh my God. This is the Venture Compound.”

“Yeah,” Brock said flatly.

Rusty seemed insulted. “I wouldn’t just storm into your own lab at midnight, in a _bathrobe_.”

"You two are trippin’, huh," Brock said.

White went rigid and looked around. “I-I thought this place burned down. We had the funeral right there on the grounds—”

Rusty took a step back as the color drained from his face. “Oh dear, it’s happened again.”

“You gotta be kidding.” Brock whipped out a gun.

The roommates threw their hands up in fear. “S-Since when do you use guns?” White asked.

“Since always,” Brock growled. “Where’s your Dr Venture?”

Billy shook his head. “I don’t know—”

“You don’t know—?”

“I don’t even remember how we got here—” Billy said. “He wasn’t with us.”

“I admit I made an ass of myself, but this prank has gone _too far_ , Rust,” White said.

“White, you dense bastard,” Billy shouted. “We’re in a parallel universe!”

White looked stunned. “Oh... Fuck me sideways.”

Dr Venture’s eyes narrowed. “So... You two are as confused as we are?”

“If not more,” Billy said. “I swear I… I didn’t know this was _possible_ — Not like _this!_ ”

“I’m too hungover to deal with this,” White groaned pathetically.

“It… _is_ a locked lab with no sign of entry,” Venture said, looking to Brock for confirmation.

Brock nodded as he holstered the gun, and the pair cautiously relaxed. He patted them down for weapons and found only cell phones and wallets, which Venture studied with bewilderment.

“Uh... Well...” Brock awkwardly held out the first aid kit. “Is Tylenol OK?”

—-

“Ugh, you smell like a wino,” White said as Billy leaned close to his face. “Makes me wanna hurl.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Can you pipe down?” Dr Venture scolded as he returned to the living room from the hall. “The boys are still sound asleep somehow, and I don’t want to wake them.”

The pen-light in Billy’s hand shut off abruptly and White pinched his brow.

“You’re all clear, no signs of concussion,” Billy said. “ _I think._ You keep blinking.”

“I have a hangover and no pigment in my retinas, I did the best I could.” White slumped back against the couch. He ran his fingers thoughtfully over the orange fabric. “Parallel universes notwithstanding, I never thought I’d be sitting _here_ again.”

“I know; it’s kind of bittersweet,” Billy sighed. “We never got to say goodbye.”

“I don’t miss our old place, but boy we had a lot of good memories on the grounds _._ ”

“So the compound burned down, huh?” Brock asked. A precautionary gun rested on his knee, but he didn’t seem on edge. “Any casualties?”

Dr Venture looked at them nervously.

“Not a one,” Billy said.

“Yeah, they were all up in space while _I_ had to stay home,” White griped.

Brock cracked a smile. “He snubbed you, huh?”

“He knows the plus one applied to spouses and family members, not _roommates_ ,” Billy clarified. “Security reasons.”

Dr Venture pulled a flip-phone out of his pocket, and the other scientists abruptly followed suit.

“Huh.” Billy held up his smartphone, trying to find a signal.

“This is nuts,” White said, “I don’t have bars _or_ data.”

“Makes sense,” Billy conceded. “If we can’t get coverage in the downstairs bathroom why would we get it in another _dimension_.”

“What’s the wi-fi password?” White asked.

“What’s wi-fi?” Brock asked.

“Friggin’ hell, do you not have _internet?_ ” White groaned.

“I would advise you to shut your devices off regardless, avoid screens and news if you can,” Dr Venture said. “Not because I think you’ll pull a Biff from _Back to the Future_ but, well, mental states are fragile and I don’t know which universe divergences may set you off.”

Billy lowered his phone. “Hmm. Point taken.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a call. And please, keep your voices down.”

White set his phone down hesitantly. “I dunno, getting lost in an alternate universe’s Wiki hole might be a fun time.”

Brock screwed up his face. “A what hole?”

“Wow, what a world.”

“Where are you right now?” Dr Venture asked from the corner. The pair turned and saw him on his phone. “Well, Peter, can you explain how you’re also in my living room? Did William make another crackpot invention?” A lengthy pause. “Oh... He is? I see. Then can you at least come over here and help me deal with this? I’ll send the X-1, it’ll take no time.” Another beat. “… You’re what? Really, vanity can’t wait?”

Billy gave White a disapproving look.

“You’re gonna judge _me_ over my double?” White hissed.

“ _Listen,”_ Dr Venture continued, “I wouldn’t demand this if it wasn’t important.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine. _Fine_ , wash your hair. I’m gonna get these two fed and hydrated, they look sickly.” He glanced at them, then lowered his voice. “No, no, that’s maybe the strangest thing about it.” He brisked out of the room and into the kitchen.

“Why send out the jet, huh?” White asked Brock.

Billy looked at him as well. “Yeah, if the compound still exists, then don’t we live down the road?”

Brock shook his head. “Nah, it’s flying to White's... or... _your_ house. I mean, in this dimension.”

“I have a house?” White beamed. “Now this universe is soundin’ cherry.”

“You’re going to park a jet in his driveway?” Billy asked.

“It’s a big _fancy_ house, you can land on the roof, easy,” Brock said.

White leaned forward. “Are you serious? I live somewhere that swanky?”

“You both do,” Brock answered. “And keep your voice down.”

“Billy, do you know what that means?” White asked giddily. “This us still got game show money!”

“I don’t think any of that was grammatically correct,” Billy replied.

White’s smile vanished. “That’s what you’re focusing on.”

“So,” Brock started, “in your, uh, dimension thing, you guys live down the road from us?”

“We sure did," Billy said.

“Where? We’re in the middle of the Colorado _nowhere_.”

“In a trailer. For way longer than I’d like to admit.”

“Well that’s just sad.”

“We don’t live there anymore,” White said.

“Now we live in Lower Manhattan with my mother,” Billy said proudly.

“That’s _also_ sad,” Brock replied.

“It so is not!” Billy defended.

“Billy’s mom is a great lady!” White added.

“Half of the old Team Venture lives there too.”

“And it’s a very nice brownstone, _thank you_.”

“Alright, sorry.” Brock gave a soft chuckle.

“What, it’s not funny, OK?” White glowered.

“Nah, it’s not _that_ , I...” He gave a bemused smile. “I think I like you two better than the ones we got.”

Billy straightened up. “Why?”

“I prefer people who have clawed up from the bottom. They got... perspective.”

White crossed his arms. “That's cute, but _I_ like any situation where I’m not slummin' it.”

Dr Venture returned with a serious expression. “Peter’s coming over,” he said soberly. White gaped back in wonder.

“What about me?” Billy asked.

“He’s trying to get a hold of you. Or. Our you.”

“Wow, this is gonna be wild,” White whispered with intrigue, but Billy fidgeted from nerves.

Dr Venture handed them both bottles of vitamin infused water. “Here. I don’t know what you’ve been through, but you’d best keep yourselves healthy. I’ll make you some sandwiches in the kitchen.”

\---

White had finished his meal and enriched drink — as well as a beer, a Sprite, and two glasses of water — but Billy could hardly finish his turkey-on-wheat. He instead rested his head in his arms upon the familiar table as he waited for White to return from the bathroom.

“Are you feeling ill?” Venture asked as he cautiously picked up the plate. “Any side-effects from the, um, _journey?”_

“Have you ever been kidnapped and forced to eat —? What am I saying, _of course you have_.”

He winced slightly. “I don’t mean to make you feel like this is hostile territory, William—”

“It’s not _that._ You’re very hospitable but it doesn’t negate the crisis White and I are in.”

“Quite.” Dr Venture leaned against the counter and checked his watch. “What’s keeping both our Peters?”

“Where does yours live, exactly?”

“Not too far, though traveling the private mountain roads by car are more pain than they’re worth. But the man’s middle name is Vanity, so who knows how long it took him to finish his beauty routine.”

“Mine always either has his head in the mirror or in the toilet.” Billy looked up as he heard movement. “And speak of the devil.” White returned to the kitchen with Brock, and still looked a little worse for wear. “I was about to go check on you,” Billy said.

“Sorry, all that liquid went right through me.”

“Right through you?” Venture asked. “Any man of our age would’ve burst two glasses ago.”

“I kinda held it as long as I could ‘cause the last thing I wanted was Brock watching me take a leak.”

“Me and you both.”

"Good news for your prostate, then," Billy said.

"Don't talk about my prostate." White collapsed into the chair beside him.

“He’s terrified of proctologists,” Billy added aside.

“I said leave my prostate out of this!”

“Here, now replace it,” Dr Venture said, filling up another glass.

White wrinkled his nose. “What, you after a urine sample next?” Venture held it out incessantly until the other caved. “Are you a medical doctor here?” he asked.

“No, but I helped raise two boys.”

“Helped, huh?” White’s gaze went to Venture’s hand. “Hey, Rust, are you married?”

“That’s no business of yours,” Venture replied with narrowed eyes. Brock made a ‘silence’ motion behind him. “But I guess I can understand your surprise. I hear the boys back in your universe don’t have a single maternal figure in their lives.”

“They’re good kids but uh... worryingly stunted at times,” Billy said.

“Well, perhaps they need to be set on the right course," Venture suggested, seeming to have an inter-dimensional interest in his sons. "Dean’s excelling in his science apprenticeship and right now Hank is on hiatus from a touring company of Kinky Boots.”

“That so,” White replied. “I always had suspicions about Hank.”

“Pardon?” Venture peered over his frames. “Wait, are you saying my son is gay because he’s in a musical?”

“Not specifically _your_ son, I meant in general, uh— I mean it’s Kinky Boots for Christ’s sake.”

“You also believe Tim Curry is actually a ‘transvestite’?” Brock asked.

“For all I know! I’ve never met the guy!”

“We’re a very musical family, you know,” Venture said with a raise of his chin. “Dean scored a lead role in the Boulder Community Theatre’s production of _Oklahoma!_ I for one, have a hit Broadway show I wrote myself.”

Billy lit up. “You do? That’s incredible — I love musicals!”

“Gay,” White said.

“What? My mom took me — It was a bonding thing!”

“Exactly my point.”

“You're going to do this,” Billy asked with resignation. “Here of all places.”

“OK, I can tell there’s a thing going on here,” Brock said. “So let's not start blowin' up at each other too.”

“You should know better than to tease someone about their sexuality," Venture added.

“He just wants to get back at me for trying to coax him out of a closet,” Billy replied. “He's pulling a Freud saying a lack of male influence turned me gay.”

“ _No._ I said a lack of male influence made you turn to television for paternal guidance and _that_ could've made you gay. And then you got into musical theater, ‘cause you’re gay.”

“I’m not gay, by the way,” Billy told the others. “Though there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Now you sound like Peter,” Venture said slyly.

“Hey!”

Before they threw any more retorts, there was the noise of fumbling and a latch, alongside the muffled beepings of H.E.L.P.eR.

A man burst through the kitchen door; handsome, bronzed, raven hair slicked back though still slightly disheveled. His face was semi familiar, but his voice was unmistakable.

“Well fuck me sideways.” It was this universe’s Pete White.

“That’s one way to put it,” Venture muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend and I thought that one-off joke from 'Bright Lights, Dean City' was so good and full of fascinating implications that we decided I should write a fic about it, and it got way out of hand. So I guess now you know what this is all about; a new sandbox to worldbuild in and an actual plot.
> 
> I cut this chapter into two parts so I could have more update wiggle room and a slight POV shift, and I'll have the next one up before June. I hope you stay tuned, and thank you for the nice words so far. :')


	5. Same Man I Wasn't Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello cool babes, I hope you're all well <3
> 
> CWs: not much stands out in this chapter, but there is an eye horror joke

Nothing could prepare Pete White for being eye to eye with his doppelganger. It wasn’t like looking in a mirror, or meeting a twin, or even watching footage from his TV days. He felt as if someone had hijacked his body; hair styled opposite of how he liked, with lines in his face he didn’t recognize. A man he didn’t know, living a life parallel to his, both under the false comfort of being alone in the universe.

“Holy shit, look at _you_ ,” White finally said to his awestruck double.

“The feeling is mutual,” the other replied. Neither could pull his eyes away. Billy gawked too, at a loss for words. “Doc, you weren’t kiddin’.”

“I know you're partial to off-color pranks, but why would _I_ kid about this?” Venture snapped.

He waved a tanned hand. “Ah, we all know you can be a drama queen.”

“You’re already on thin ice, Peter, so don’t test me,” Venture said gravely.

“So... what,” White began, “did you get born normal or something?”

“Huh?” His bronzed double — ‘ _Peter’_ — stared back. “ _Oh._ Yeah, I can see why you’d think that. I actually wear a kind of disguise—”

“No way, you’re albino too?” Brock asked.

“Did we _not_ go to school together?” Peter razzed.

Brock remained mystified. “I was busy with football, man, I only knew you from the radio.”

“So you’re ashamed of how we look?” White asked uneasily.

Peter’s black eyes went wide. “It’s more complicated than that. See, in this universe I got famous and—”

“You hosted a TV show called Quizboys, yeah, I was there.” White gestured to Billy. “Obviously.”

“Then we already have more in common than I thought,” Peter replied with a hint of confusion.

Billy raised a finger. “So does that mean you’re still on TV?”

“Not on Quizboys, but I host other shows—”

“Good grief, that explains it all,” White sighed.

Billy leaned forward and extended a palm. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. _Again_. Under bizarre circumstances.”

“Likewise, buddy.” Peter shook Billy’s hand, and then his not-so-identical doppelganger’s.

“Wait, _I’m_ married too?” White exclaimed as he felt a ring against his skin.

Peter looked at his wedding band and drew his hand back possessively. “Well, _I’m_ married. We’re not the same person — We can’t be. But Billy might say otherwise—”

“So we’re friends in _this_ universe too,” Billy said eagerly.

“Sure.” He gave a half shrug. “I mean. I guess that’d be an understatement at this point.”

“Figures.” Billy turned to Venture. “My guy won’t call us best friends either.”

White narrowed his eyes. “Oh come on. We all know _Rusty_ is my best friend.”

The other Pete White shifted awkwardly, while Venture looked away with disdain. H.E.L.P.eR. made a nervous beep, and Brock cleared his throat like it’d dispel the palpable tension.

“Well,” the intruding White said abashedly. “At least we got the wife — _Egh,_ ” he winced as Billy kicked him under the table.

Venture threw a hand in the air. “I think too much chit-chat and divulsion of this and that might... _interfere_ with the multiverse once we return them to their own.”

“Yeah,” Brock added, “their world sounds pretty, uh... messy.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Billy asked.

“You just told me you lived in a camper.”

Peter cringed. “ _Yeowch_.”

“Used to,” White countered.

“OK, and now you live with his _mom_ ,” Brock said.

They braced for another dig, but Peter put his hand on his chest. “You mean Mrs Whalen? What’s she like?”

“ _All of you_ —” Venture interrupted — “What did I just say about multiverses?”

“Fine.” Peter’s shoulders slumped. “You, uh... mind if I try calling Billy again now that I got confirmation?”

“If you weren't going to, I was,” Venture said. “Even if this didn't involve him, I'll need more than an _entertainment personality_ at my disposal _.”_

“I'm smart," White parried. "I got loads of skills."

Venture raised a brow. “Are you 'quantum mechanics' smart?"

“I can... type fast..." White said, and was met with blank stares. "Faster than Billy." Still nothing. "Over 150 per minute."

“ _Fascinating_ ," Venture said sardonically. "I'll call you when WOPR tries to start World War III."

“Next time quit while you're ahead," Billy said to his deflated friend.

Peter offered them a weak smile as he pulled out his phone. “My guy will know what to do. We’ll get you fellas home in a jiff.” He excused himself to the doorway.

Venture looked the intruders over. “Mr White, you’re still pallid. I mean — Not because of the albinism, but you... William, does he _usually_ look like an emaciated Swamp Thing?”

Billy put the back of his hand to White’s cheek. “ _Ugh_ , you’re clammy as hell.”

“I keep gettin’ vertigo. How about you?”

“I feel fine. I mean, not emotionally, but y’know.”

“H.E.L.P.eR. and I will get you some Gatorade from the pantry,” Venture said before exiting.

White pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled as the room spun once more.

His double's conversation wafted from the corner of the kitchen, and they piqued their heads in confused interest. It was strange for both of them to hear him disembodied in such a way, voice not put on for an audience, but full of vulnerability,

“— call you...?” Peter waited for a response. “OK. Well, uh, there’s a weird situation happening — Everyone’s safe, don’t freak out — Or maybe freak out a lil, since it might be a bit uh... existentially catastrophic.” He nervously glanced over and seemed startled by meeting eyes with them. The fear soon faded into an eye roll. “.... No, not _aliens_ ya big nerd, I’m...” Their gazes locked again. “I’m starin’ right at _us._ ‘Cept they’re different. But they’re us.” Another pause, which seemed to take the wind from him. “Yeah, no... I’d put money on it. Just by lookin’ at ‘em, I think their world is really fucked up or somethin’.”

“We’ve had hard luck, but I don’t think we’re _that_ pitiful,” Billy muttered to Brock, who was still studying them.

Dr Venture returned with H.E.L.P.eR. in tow, carrying a box full of identical bottles. “You can have as many of these as you like,” he said, leaving it on the kitchen table. “Hank demands the variety pack but refuses to drink the Glacier Freeze.”

“It’s nasty, I don’t blame him,” Brock said. “Reminds me of antacid.”

“Oh so _that’s_ where he got it from,” Venture accused softly.

White took a bottle with fumbling fingers, but handed it to Billy, who cracked the seal open with ease.

“You’re feeling that weak?” Venture asked with concern as White chugged the teal beverage.

“He rarely opens bottles,” Billy derided. “ _Or_ jars, or _anything_ that requires effort.”

“It’s murder on my palms; I have delicate skin,” White said airily. “And _you_ have like a can opener for a hand.”

“I think Dark Souls gave him carpal tunnel,” Billy continued. “The man has no grip strength.”

“I have strong fingers. My thumbs could press a man’s eyeball into his brain, easy.”

“ _Dude, gross._ ”

“Speaking of...” Venture examined Billy. “What _did_ happen to your eye and hand?”

Billy flashed a haughty look. “I thought we weren’t allowed to discuss the multiverse.”

“Fine.”

“Alright,” Peter returned. “Billy took the news surprisingly well, but then again he’s a super scientist.” His eyes went back to his doppelganger. “Jeez, do I always look that chartreuse?”

“Lay off, guy, I’m hungover. I think.”

“So what now?” Billy asked.

“I’m not sure.” Dr Venture turned to Peter. “They’re here, and they swear up and down that they don’t know how, so they’re either in the dark or refuse to talk—”

“I’ve had more than my share of living nightmares,” Billy interjected. “I’d like this one to be over as quickly as possible.”

“Me too,” White moaned. “I feel like shit and I wanna go to bed. In _my_ bed.”

“I’d like it to be over too, but that’s wishful thinking,” Dr Venture said. "I can't just call in a plumber to fix an inter-dimensional leak."

“C’mon, don't act _helpless_.” White spiraled into panicked frustration. “You’re also a super scientist, and you seem to be _very_ successful—”

“Keep it down,” Brock menaced. “If you wake the boys, I'll make sure you get back in _multiple_ pieces.”

White swallowed but then turned back to Venture, voice hushed but still as angry: “Don’t you have _any_ idea what to do?”

“I may have to go through my father’s old research, but not tonight.” He took off his glasses. “I’m... exhausted and as far as I know I’ve hallucinated all of this. God I _hope_ I've hallucinated this.”

Billy nodded. “I hate to spend a second longer here than needed, but I think we’ll be better off with all the rest we can get,” Billy said, and put a hand on White’s hunched shoulder. “You especially, you look like you’re gonna go _George A. Romero_ on us.”

“Well, Doc?” Brock asked. “If the universe spits out more former classmates of ours, I can’t waste energy babysitting _these two_ all night.”

“I suppose we can restrain them or put them in the panic room—”

“What?” White recoiled. “You’re gonna lock us up like animals?”

“Yeah, that's a little cruel, don't cha think?” his double said awkwardly.

“I understand why you’d show them empathy, Peter, but Brock here knows I made that mistake already.”

“Huh? What’d I miss?” Peter replied.

Venture turned to him sharply. “Did you know a version of me from another world tried to kill and replace me?”

White let out an abrupt laugh that startled everyone. “I remember that.”

“Excuse me, you _what?_ ” Venture interrogated.

“Yeah, Rust got drunk and told me all about it.”

“Then that settles one thing,” Billy said and interlocked his fingers with purpose. “Our universes have already connected.”

White nodded. “Then theoretically it could’ve built a bridge that never fully closed,” he added.

“That’s a very clever theory, pal,” Peter said with intrigue.

“Thanks." White puffed up with newfound confidence. "Just ‘cause I got alcohol poisoning doesn’t mean I’m not still a scientist.”

“Peter — I mean — Mr White,” Venture said to the intruder, apparently stewing. “Are you suggesting you knew that another me invaded my timeline, and you didn’t bother to tell any of us?”

“I dunno, I guess till now I figured Rust had a very vivid dream.”

“You know that makes you even more suspect than before,” Venture glowered.

Billy went pale. “I swear on my life, we were crossing the street and something hit us!”

“Did your Venture say how he got here?” Peter asked leniently.

White closed his eyes in thought. “He said... a fat guy fell on him and he went through his belly button to another dimension.” They stared back at him in gaping confusion. “Yeah, see? Dream logic.”

“That guy was real, I totally saw him,” Billy said.

“When?” Dr. Venture demanded.

“When I was in space. He pulled a goddamn _zebra_ from it, among other random crap.”

“You do realize how fishy this all sounds,” Brock said skeptically.

Billy had a look of realization and again held up a finger. “Wait. I have a question for _you…_ How did our Rusty get back?”

“Ah, it’s a bit complicated,” Venture sighed. “My father built a prototype of teleportation technology that — instead of molecular reconfiguration — utilizes the wormhole effect —”

“Like Nightcrawler from the X-Men?” Billy cut in.

“Sure,” he said, albeit dismissively, “but only for scant distances of, say, ten feet. Hardly practical or even marketable, especially for the amount of energy it consumed. Any further and you run the risk of ripping open a black hole in your living room.” The others winced. “Since he was from another universe himself, his atomic signature opened a portal ten feet into his dimension rather than mine.”

White glared. “So all this time you knew how to get us back?”

“Technically, yes, but I still don’t believe your story." Venture put his hands on his hips. "Why should I trust you if you might send more back another time?”

White stood up from his seat. “You can’t just keep us from going home because of your own paranoias, you jerk off.”

The others tensed and Brock hovered a warning hand over his gun.

Billy cautiously pulled White down by his sleeve. “Calm down, you'll get us shot.” He looked to the tanned version of his friend, who also seemed perturbed.

“Doc, just get these two home,” Peter said. “Don’t they seem like they’ve gone through enough in life?”

“Well if we’re going off appearances, they give me nothing but villain vibes.”

“OK, _wow,_ ” Billy laughed mirthlessly, now growing agitated himself. “That’s fucking uncalled for.”

Brock sighed. “Pipe down. This is gettin' ridiculous.” He turned to his employer. “Doc, why don’t you tell them the actual reason why we can’t get them back.”

Venture crossed his arms. “What I said is perfectly valid. But if they must know… We destroyed the prototype.”

“What?” Billy hissed. “Why?”

“My double wouldn’t tell me _spit_ about how he got here, so I assumed the device had a reverse functionality that let him travel between dimensions.”

“Fuckin’ great,” White groaned and buried his face in his hands. “We’re trapped, aren’t we?”

Billy again clutched White's arm, but now to comfort him. “Don’t give up like that. Doing the impossible is practically our job,” he said softly, and looked to Dr. Venture. “If your dad designed it, you’ve got to have notes, plans, schematics—”

“Much of those plans were seized over time by the OSI and other watch dog groups,” Venture said. “I’ll have to do some serious digging, but anything that wasn't monetized has most likely been classified.”

Brock shrugged. “I can get a leg up in that department, but uh…” He grimaced, and it appeared sad. “I can’t make promises.”

“So then…” Billy swallowed. “How long until we know if… If we’re trapped for good?”

“I can’t say,” Venture said, with no sympathy still.

“Please don’t lock us up,” White begged. “That’s just insult to injury now.”

“Listen to him, Rust,” Peter said. “Now I feel even worse than before. Just let me take ‘em off your hands for now.”

Dr. Venture inhaled with pursed lips and turned to his tanned colleague. “Peter, a word? In private.”

“Hey— No,” White interrupted. “If you have somethin’ to say, you can say it in front of the class.”

“He's right. You have the home team advantage,” Billy said. “For all we know _you_ could be super villains in this dimension.”

"Yeah, and your _'real hair'_ is already sending' up the red flags," White accused, "like you've got things to hide." He looked at his double. "No offense."

“ _Fine_ ," Venture said. "In that case, I’ll make my mistrust known as well.” He turned back to continue. “Peter, if I were you I wouldn’t have these men on your property. You didn't even put in a panic room when you built the place," he scolded.

"And for what?" Peter asked. " _Sorry_ I didn't dump 500k into planning for a cross-dimensional incident!"

"The starter price was 50k, Peter, don't misquote me."

"The biggest threat in _my_ life is when Billy begs to raid my good vintage at parties, and he can't reach it anyhow."

Dr Venture wasn't amused. "I already dealt with the Thaddeus from their universe, and if they’re anything like him, I could get a phone call saying they’ve been ‘sent back’ but in truth you and William will be buried down the road.”

Peter studied the duo. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

Venture looked repulsed. “Really?”

“I’ve never been that good an actor, and these two seem more scared and exhausted than any of us.”

“You’re basing this on your own life — I would never murder and replace a man, and yet —”

“Dr Venture, I can’t fault you for doubting us,” Billy said. “But if you’ve lived a charmed life, then you don’t understand _his_ desperation.”

“Yeah," White nodded, "bless his atrophied heart, but our Rust can be a real piece of work.”

“And if you don’t want us unrestrained in your home, that is totally your call,” Billy said civilly, though his roommate sighed.

Peter’s dark brows furrowed. “Listen, Billy, I know you. I trust you.”

“That’s a lot of _faith_ you suddenly got, Peter,” Venture muttered.

“I can see me goin’ bad — Rust _definitely_ , but... There’s no timeline where you could go rotten.”

Billy’s shoulders hunched. “I’m not perfect.”

Peter smiled. “You two can stay with me. And while Dr. Venture figures stuff out, the rest of us can chat. See where our paths diverged.”

“I don’t think that’s smart either,” Venture said.

“And what if the key to all this is something based on our collective experiences, eh?” Peter asked. “You said it yourself; no one knows where they’re leakin’ in from, or why they keep comin’ to us.”

White lifted his head. “Technically, there can’t be only two dimensions, right?” he mused. “Maybe there’s a convergence point for ours? Like, one we could replicate where we wouldn’t need your teleporter anyhow...”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. See? Us Whites got good ideas too.”

Brock raised a brow. “You might wanna change the phrasing on that next time.”

“Sounds a tad sketch,” Dr. Venture added.

“Maybe if we were Caucasian,” White said and his double chuckled.

Venture’s eyes darted between them. “Wait — are you not?”

White scoffed. “Would that _change_ somethin' for you?”

“Alright, knock it off,” Brock said. “He’s causing a distraction, Doc.”

“He doesn’t do this on purpose,” Billy countered, to even White’s surprise. “He’s just overly defensive with no attention span.”

White groaned as he realized his prescription was in another dimension, but his doppelganger shrugged. “As I was saying,” Peter continued, “I got a hole in my schedule, and I don’t mind hosting ‘em.”

“It doesn’t shock me you’d side with the man with your face, Peter,” Venture said. “Perhaps this is vanity speaking?”

“Even so, it’s _my_ double, y’know? Maybe I should decide what I wanna risk.”

Venture sighed. “Then promise me this. You don’t start swapping stories until William arrives to assess the situation. It’s only fair.”

“Fine.” Peter shifted his weight. “Then uh... If I’m takin’ them to my place, then I’m gonna make another private phone call.”

“To whom?”

“Jamina, obviously. Let her know what’s up.”

“Do you think it wise to reveal this to third parties?”

Peter shrugged incredulously. “Well, Brock already knows.”

“I’m in the OSI, man, we’re professional secret keepers.”

“And Brock is used to this kind of absurdity on the compound," Venture added. "On a smaller scale, of course, but what’s _her_ threshold? Your industry events? Maybe a key party at Chez Blanc?”

“Keep dreamin',” Peter sneered, “we don’t swing like _you_ do.”

Venture was unfazed. “Well? What are you gonna tell her?”

He exhaled and smoothed back his black hair. “Maybe just to clean up the place, it’s not like we're prepped for uh... house guests from another world. If you’re worried about this multiverse stuff, I got a whole mansion full of sensitive info.”

“I see.” Venture adjusted his glasses. “Well. As long as you keep it vague.”

“She’s used to ‘vague’ from me. And like Brock, I’m also good at secrets. No one gets in,” he said smugly.

“Oh, I’m very aware of that,” Venture replied. “You know, it must take a saint’s patience to have you for a husband.”

Despite the colored contacts, Peter’s eyes went cold. “You don’t get to talk about what kind of husband I am. Home-wrecker.”

The two dimension hoppers bristled in interest.

“Ah, this again,” Venture said with boredom.

Brock stepped between them. “Alright, kids, let’s be professional. We’ve all had a long day and a weird fuckin’ night, there's no reason to make it worse.”

Venture turned away and waved a hand. “Take them, Peter. _Please_. H.E.L.P.eR. will fly you back but —” He glared over his shoulder at the intruders, “don’t you _dare_ hijack my plane.”

H.E.L.P.eR. beeped and revealed a threatening ray-gun from his chest. Brock patted the bot fondly on the back. “You better not freak him out for Pete’s sake, ‘cause this guy could turn the cockpit into Swiss cheese.”

Peter turned to them in fear. “D-Don’t make me regret this.”

\---

The two strangers to this dimension faced yet another nostalgia trip. It had been over a year since either of them had even seen the X-1 — their last time being that misadventure in Spanakos, before Rusty traded out the antiquated model for his late brother’s X-12.

Though White experienced take off curled up in a nauseated ball, Billy had his face pressed against the glass as he watched the pristine compound grow smaller — Perhaps his final chance to see it again, to bid farewell to a good third of his life’s memories. The permanence of destruction was an unsavory fact of life, one all humans had to make peace with. But now that this singular truth no longer applied, his mind couldn’t process what laid outside as real, like a lucid dreamworld.

And that didn't take into account how two Pete Whites occupied this plane.

Once in the air, his roommate groaned and stuffed some tissue in his ears. White noticed Billy watching him. “Do not disturb,” he muttered, as he tried his best to find a napping position.

Peter’s bronze fingers tapped nervously on his armrests. The tension hung thick, making the cabin pressure even more stifling. Billy hated awkward silence, and when anxious the only thing that could truly soothe him was speaking about, well, anything.

He unbuckled his seat belt and tiptoed his way up to the stranger. H.E.L.P.eR. made a warning noise, and Billy raised his hands.

“Don’t worry, I’m just… I wanted to talk to Mr White.”

Peter let out a timid laugh. “Yeah, don’t sneak up on me, fella.”

“Sorry,” Billy said repentantly. “I didn’t want to shout — He’s trying to nap back here.”

“What can I do you for?” Peter asked, flashing a smile that was bright against his tanned skin. It dredged up those once-erased memories of when the game show host hadn’t yet derailed Billy’s life.

He had to look away.

“So... I know we’re not really supposed to talk, but…”

“The Doc has a point... But also, screw that guy.”

“Is that animosity I’ve been sensing?” Billy asked rhetorically.

Peter pushed back his dark fringe. “Maybe we should stick to small talk for now. Don't fret though; the flight isn’t that much longer.”

“Then why did it take so long for you to show up?”

“I didn’t wanna meet my double with a face mask and root touch-up, that’s just tacky.” Peter turned around to examine his pale doppelganger. “I mean, look at him — I know he’s passed out, and kinda looks like a corpse, but he's a very _well dressed_ corpse.”

“It’s what he wears, like, almost every day,” Billy said with no enthusiasm.

“As he should!” There was a pause. “How come he’s all fucked up tonight but you’re not?”

“Other than him abusing an open bar, I have no idea.”

Peter gazed at his own hand. “Maybe it’s the altitude, but I feel a little under myself. Could be nerves. Hopefully I didn’t get alternate universe germs.”

“Oh.” Billy cringed. “That never even crossed my mind. Shit.”

“Eh, Venture probably has some Purell around here,” Peter said and H.E.L.P.eR. beeped in agreement.

“The med bay has a built-in dispenser,” Billy said, “though my Rusty never remembers to refill it.”

There was tension in Peter's jaw as he smiled. “You... fly with him a lot?”

“We tag along occasionally. White not as much, he gets airsick, _or so he claims_.”

“I can empathize, though I skipped the meclizine ‘cause I know I’m gonna drink myself into a stupor once we hit terra firma.”

Billy gave a humorless smirk. “You two have so much in common.”

“Speaking of which — Can you pass me a Gatorade?” he asked and Billy obliged. “I better pregame my electrolytes just to be safe.”

Peter struggled with the cap. Billy sighed and held out his hand. _Too_ much in common.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to get that bit of teleporter based dimensional travel exposition out of the way so it wouldn't be a instant fix, but it was fun to try to come up with new sci-fi tech, and I tried to make the delivery entertaining. And the Caucasian line is less of 'fic canon' and more of a joke my friend and I have about "what if White isn't white" since his fake tan is so dark in the show. (I can relate to being ten shades lighter than my brown family, genetics wanted me to be goth)
> 
> Anyway, the next one is a bit longer and I'll try to have it up in a week or so again. I feel like if I update too fast I'll run out of buffer chapters between me and my beta reader's other responsibilities rn.
> 
> Thanks for the patience and thanks for reading. Your comments have meant so much <3


	6. And You May Find Yourself In a Beautiful House...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is being a hero safely this week! Here's some escapism for your day.
> 
> CWs: more drinking, bad language, mild sex jokes, talk about germs and plagues (that I swear did not come from real life events)

A stark symbol among the evergreens, there gleamed on the mountainside a marvel of mid-century modern architecture made of dazzling platinum curves that turned to sharp edges — To afford such a lifestyle this White must have found himself immense success. With H.E.L.P.eR.’s robotic precision, the X-1 glided like silk onto the rooftop tarmac.

“This ain’t my first time hailing a private jet instead of a cab,” Peter bragged.

Billy furrowed his brow. “Isn’t that bad for the environment?”

“With biofuel? It runs on shampoo or somethin',” he said, and Billy let out a discouraged sound.

“I can’t believe how much your universe rules.”

“Chin up, fella, I’m sure yours is great too,” Peter said. "For all you know we're the leftovers of the Rapture, doomed to damnation and all that fun stuff."

Billy nudged White awake. “I’m up,” he mumbled, bringing the sports drink to his lips. “Friggin’ planes.”

“I gotta admit the X-1 flies like a dream,” Peter mused. H.E.L.P.eR. beeped. “Yeah, yeah, maybe I’m givin' Venture too much credit. You're an aerial ace, ol’ friend.”

The trio descended the steps from the tarmac to the side path, and they heard the X-1 take off behind them. No escape now. Once they reached the front door, a motion light shot on. The hungover White shrunk away, and Billy spotted a camera blinking at them.

“Who’s—?” asked a woman’s voice over the intercom. “Oh my _..._ ”

“I forgot to grab my keys when I left from the roof,” Peter said, “can you buzz us in, hun?”

The key pad turned green and he pushed his way inside. They traversed a short entryway leading out into an open floor plan home that was no doubt influenced by White's aesthetics. Late 1980s construction, creamy marble with golden inlays, low minimalist furniture and grand tinted windows flanked by towering curtains. Masculine yet opulent.

"Bee-yoo-tiful," White whispered as he took it in.

Clanking heeled footsteps kept a cautious rhythm, growing the volume, and soon a figure appeared from behind a room divider.

“OK,” said the woman approaching them. “I honestly thought this might be a prank but...”

“You weren’t around when Venture and I were still buddy-buddy,” Peter replied. “Weird stuff happened all the time.”

“Like _this?”_ she inquired nervously.

“Not like this. Think shrink rays and like... fish-men hybrids...”

As they drew closer, her beauty became more apparent. A younger woman a few shades darker than Peter, sporting a chiffon blouse, palazzo pants, and cropped curls that shone with metallic highlights. Clearly someone who matched the league that this White found himself in.

“This is my best gal Jamina,” he said. “And I figure these two need no intro...”

Jamina gave a hesitant yet cordial wave. “Hello.”

“Now here we go,” the intruding White sighed, “someone easy on the eyes.” Billy stared at him, mortified.

“Thank you. I guess,” she replied with an uneasy smile.

White’s shoulders went rigid. “S-Sorry, I’m not tryin’ to be inappropriate or—”

“No, no, I didn’t think that at all,” she chuckled, but it still held discomfort.

“I also apologize for him,” Billy said. “In our world he was never house trained.” White managed to hold his tongue.

“It’s fine, I’m just a little, um...” She trailed off and turned to Peter. “I’m gonna need a drink.”

“The bar is all yours, hun,” he said.

“I can’t imagine how this must be for—”

“We’ll all be laughing about it before we know it,” he said lightly. Jamina nodded and scurried to the kitchen. Peter returned his attention to his 'guests'. “William—”

“Billy,” he corrected. “My full name makes me feel like I’m in trouble.”

Peter smiled. “Sure. I know you got uh, _marinated_ before you traveled here.” The culprit looked away. “There’s a shower down the hall — and you’ll find some clothes in the bedroom to the left of it.”

“And they’ll fit me?” he asked skeptically.

“Don’t worry about it. Either way, I’ll have yours clean and pressed by the time you wake up tomorrow. And... _Pete._ Uh. You want a nightcap?” he offered, making a pouring motion.

“Hell no, I’m already hungover,” White lamented. “But I’ll take some PJ’s too if you can spare ‘em, fancy pants.”

“How fancy do you want?”

“Give me a taste of the finest life, I spent like two decades in the camper.”

“Holy Hell, you poor thing,” Peter balked. "Let's get you comfy. But uh... not too comfy, right?"

\---

White changed into a pair of incredibly silky black pajamas while his roommate showered. He then waited in the kitchen, nibbling on a water cracker as he described what interdimensional travel felt like. The couple made noises of interest, but wordlessly stared into their wine as if shock had finally set in. He couldn't blame them.

Once he heard the doors from the further halls open and shut, he _gladly_ chose to bid goodnight to his tanned doppelganger and his gorgeous partner. All he wanted was to reconvene with the only stable person in his life.

From the moment he arrived in this mansion, he noted the absence of decor on the walls and surfaces. And despite the dimness of the hallway, White could tell that frames had been removed from their pegs. It remained unclear exactly what there was to hide. Hopefully nothing sinister. Though, his double hadn’t seemed to give much phone instruction on the matter, so perhaps the woman of the house had gone without mercy.

White knocked lightly on the bedroom door. “Hey pally, can I come in?”

“Please do.”

As White entered, he found Billy sitting on the bed wearing both a grave expression and a surprisingly well-fitting bathrobe.

“Huh. Look at that!” White beamed and gazed around the space. “They got a guest room _and_ spare apparel for their you? That’s thoughtful—”

“White.”

“What? Oh.” His face fell into something more sympathetic. “Is it all sinking in now?” He noticed a large picture frame flat down on the bed. “... What cha got there?”

Billy hovered his palm over it cautiously. “I don't think they're being honest with us.”

“What could they be lyin' about if they didn't say much to begin with. Wait — You don't think this is a _Parasite_ sitch or somethin'?”

“No, I... Whoever Jemima or Jameela is...” Billy looked up with trepidation. “She's not your wife.”

White drew a breath as his focus fell back on the frame. “Lemme see that.” He snatched it from under Billy’s palm. “OK, it's... it's.” He became dumbstruck. “Why are... Oh no. No way.”

The multi-photo frame consisted of smaller snapshots, all bordering a framed magazine page. Every picture had both White and Billy grinning back at them from various television sets, more radiant and youthful than the two could ever recall being themselves.

“They kept calling me Dr. White..." Billy said distantly. "I don’t know why it didn’t dawn on me sooner.”

White's eyes scanned the magazine copy.

“He asked the biggest question, and he had the correct answer.”

_Producer Peter White and Quizboys All-Star Dr. William Whalen Engaged!_

“Audiences enjoyed their later on-screen banter,” White read in a hurried whisper, “unawares of the romance that blossomed a decade after Dr. Whalen’s legendary Quizboys run. It wasn’t until White’s now iconic coming out moment as the host of Miss America 2001 that—” His head shot up. “I'm gay?” White hissed in quiet dismay.

“Oh, make this about you alone,” Billy snapped back.

“W-We're...” He read it again. “Then I... I guess the con went long.”

Billy’s brow relaxed. “Is that what you think it is?”

“What else could be the explanation?” White tossed the frame onto the bed as if unbothered, and Billy cradled it. “I mean, lets be logical here. You believe a hot-blooded heterosexual like me fell for you?”

“Well ouch, for one.”

“Alright, poor choice of words.”

“And two... if you're…” He shook his head. “If _we're_ living it up in luxury and you're still on TV... then there’s no reason to be pulling the wool over my mom's eyes, let alone the world’s.”

“Maybe your life sucks and I'm lookin' out for you like the nice guy I am.” White crossed his arms. “I think that sounds very plausible.”

Billy scowled again. “In your dreams.”

“I mean, there's no proof we're still 'together' either. Maybe we found ourselves girlfriends and divorced. I mean, there's a _mega hot_ chick here, after midnight no less." White leaned against the wall. “This is a perfect world after all. That's gotta be it.”

Billy studied the clipping again. “What if in a perfect world you're gay?”

“... Very funny.”

“I'm just saying—”

“Then you'd be gay too.”

Silence loomed for a moment. “Maybe we should ask him,” Billy said.

“Yeah.” White rolled his eyes. “Hey fella, does the male form get you off? _This one_ specifically?”

“I’ll never not be floored by your hyperbole,” he said flatly. “Now, anyone with _communication skills_ would ask why there're no photos except the one hidden in the guest room.” White grumbled something and Billy sighed. “Think about it, White... Why would anyone frame an article if it wasn’t of sentimental value?”

“Fine. We’ll ask," White conceded. "And then we’re all gonna laugh at you when it turns out I was right.”

“That’s a risk I am willing to take.” Billy looked down at his bare legs. “But first, pants.”

\---

It was a strange sight they walked in on. The other, darker Pete White half dressed, his head flat on the kitchen counter top and an obscenely sized glass of rosé in his grip. Jamina still done up in her prim and proper fashion, sipping a beer and patting him as he rambled on, voice muffled by the marble. She was the first to detect the approaching duo and shook her White by the shoulder.

“Ah. Hey, friends,” Peter said as he straightened up. He seemed unfazed, a sign he’d conditioned himself to switching ‘on’ for an audience. “You two need something?”

“The truth,” White demanded.

“Truth?" Peter's eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry, are you turnin' against _me_ now — ?”

Billy held up the frame.

Jamina squinted at it, and Peter threw his head back. “Oh goddammit, Jamina — You missed one.”

She spun to him in disbelief. “Where?”

“The bedroom down the hall!”

“Don't pin that on _me!_ ” She gestured towards it in confusion. “You’ve told me that room was off limits. I thought you turned it into a sex dungeon or something.”

“ _Ew,_ ” Peter snarled.

“What?” Jamina screeched with exasperation.

“Aha!” White exclaimed.

“What?” Peter shouted.

“You said ‘ _ew’_ to us two having sex!” White said triumphantly.

“No I didn't!”

“Did too.” He crossed his arms. “We’re _not_ actually together in this world, are we?”

“I said ‘ _ew’_ about my marriage being some Christian Grey bullshit!”

Jamina swiveled to him again. “You know, all those times you had me sleep over for an early flight would’ve been a lot more restful had I known you had a guest suite.”

“Listen, can we drop it?” Peter moaned.

White would not. “Why do you have a secret room filled with Billy’s things if you're married to him?”

Jamina blinked. “Your husband keeps his stuff in that tiny space? His closet is bigger than my apartment—”

“What I do in my home and in my marriage are none of your business, and I don’t have to explain any of it to anyone.” He pointed harshly at his double. “ _Especially_ _you_.”

“Really? ‘Cause I’m in it, apparently.”

“No you’re not!” Peter raised his voice and Jamina seemed startled. “You’re not me! _Obviously,_ because look at you two!” He stared them down, but the fire vanished into fear. “... Or maybe you _are_ me!” He picked up the wineglass. “Maybe your timeline is the good one and I’m the a-hole who made the wrong choices in life, I dunno!” He turned away and took a large swig of it.

Jamina put her hands out slowly. “Peter, I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Fuck. No. _I’m_ sorry.” He peeked back ruefully. “This is all really messin’ with my head and Billy ain’t here to talk me down.”

“I know. He’ll be here soon,” Jamina said.

“I will?” Billy asked.

“Yeah.” Peter grew awkward again. “He was at an engineering conference but he's taking the first flight home.”

White matched his uneasy energy. “S-Sorry for trying to confront you—”

“Nah, it was stupid for me to try ‘n hide it.” He gave a small chuckle. “The Doc says we need to keep our respective lives under wraps, but shit, it only breeds mistrust, doesn’t it? I don’t think he trusts anyone ‘cept Brock.”

“Then why don’t we all be upfront from here on,” Billy suggested. “White and I are best friends in our world, and if it’s different in yours, then I think that’s great too. I’m very happy for you.”

Peter smiled. “That's sweet of you to say so.” He glanced at White who said nothing. “I think there was a good point about waitin' for Billy to get here before we all have our lil confab. If you want, I can make up the couch for one or both of you.”

“Nah, we’ll take the guest bed if that’s OK,” White muttered. “We gotta share a smaller one back home anyway.”

“Gotta?”

“It’s a long story,” Billy grumbled.

“We’ll probably get into it tomorrow, won’t we.” Peter downed the rest of his wine. “Jammy, why don’t you take the week off. I’ll call you a cab.”

“You guys won’t need anything?”

“Nah, five’s gonna be a crowd, ‘specially if anyone from the Venture compound drops in... but if I need you, I’ll call.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll take you out for sushi when this whole thing blows over.”

Her eyes shot to the duo. “I’ll need more than sushi if I have to process a multiverse.”

“Well at least they’re not time travelers.”

Her eyes widened. “Fuck me.”

“Time travel isn't real, hun, don’t worry.” He then flashed the visitors a glance as if to say mum’s the word.

\---

The two tossed and turned in fitful sleep, Billy plagued by anxiety and what-ifs, and White with whatever was making him feel so off-kilter.

After another trip to the bathroom, White crawled back into the bed and chugged more Gatorade. Billy stirred and lifted his head, which rested against the footboard. Normally they didn't keep such a convoluted distance, but the more obvious developments tonight made them a bit too sheepish to sleep eye to eye.

“Are you still hungover?” he asked White.

“It comes and goes. It’s not even a headache anymore, it’s this queasy visceral feeling.”

“Anxiety?” Billy suggested. “I mean, I wouldn’t _blame_ you.”

“Does that come with chills?”

“It could.” Billy adjusted his pillow. “Some people break out in hives.”

“Nerds do, not someone of _my_ ilk.”

“You have a degree in computer science and owned a tech start-up, you're a nerd.”

“I’m a geek. You're a nerd. There’s real differences, i.e. _coolness._ ”

“‘E.g.’, you mean, ‘i.e.’ means ‘in other words’.”

“See? That’s just what a nerd would say.”

White's legs moved under the sheets, and Billy let out a sharp gasp. “ _Jesus,_ is that your foot that touched my elbow—”

“No, it’s my dick — What else would it be?”

“It feels like ice.”

“See? I told you. I got chills. If I caught mono again, I’m gonna flip my lid. No one warned me New York is covered in the plague 24/7.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you what the other you said,” Billy said hesitantly.

“What?” White sat up. “Oh, now you have to tell me, asshole.”

“You know the 'time travel virus theory' where we can’t go to and from? Because the lack of proper vaccines would kill us or them? That might be even more likely in multidimensional travel—”

“Good grief, I don't need that kind of crap in my brain when I’m trying to sleep.”

“Then be sure to wash your hands _for once._ ” White muttered something disparaging again. “Anyway, my mind’s way too existential to focus on things of a microbial nature.”

“Tell me about it. You didn’t even see your double—”

“That’s why I can’t sleep.” Billy drew the sheets closer. “I keep thinking about meeting him.”

White heaved a sigh. “I’m sure he’s great, Billy... He would have to be if it’s a universe where I fuck you.”

“Fuck you,” he laughed into the pillow.

“Exactly. It takes two to tango.”

There was a pause. “I wish I’d had you around the other times I was stuck somewhere.”

“Well, I’ve been around a _few_ times. All we did was fight, remember?”

“But petty fights are still a distraction from... mortal peril.”

“Look... These guys don’t seem so bad. They’ve fed us, clothed us... Let’s just make the best of it, OK?”

“I don’t want to be trapped here,” Billy said softly.

“We won’t be. I promise. This Doc is smart, he dealt with the multiverse before — Our Rust has been here, so there’s a way to get back.” Billy sighed, and White sat up slightly. “And even if we didn’t have them, me and you built a teleporter, almost single-handedly. We might not be rich and hot, but we’re still badasses.”

“Yeah.” Billy smirked in the darkness, finding rare comfort in his friend’s shallow outlook. “We’ll be OK. We’re always OK.”

\---

With no work alarms to wake them, exhaustion and cushy Egyptian cotton kept them down for the count. Until White had a mild panic attack as he awoke in a strange room. The frequently kidnapped surgeon was all too accustomed to it himself.

White had a turn in the shower, and Billy found his own ironed clothes left hanging on the door, with a note attached declaring him welcome to anything in the guest room drawer. He ignored the offer, too self-conscious to snoop any more in their doppelgangers’ belongings. Not that the idea didn’t itch in his brain as White took his sweet time in the bathroom.

When he eventually returned, his hair was already dried and perfect. “ _Whew_. I have never in my life seen a shower like that. It was like a car wash for men.”

“I was wondering what took you so long,” Billy said in in disapproval. “Apparently you ordered the full detailing service — Did you splurge on the _tri-colored foam_ too?”

“Let me enjoy one damn thing, OK? I'm havin' a rough go here.”

“We _all_ are, White.”

“You're just jealous 'cause you didn't play with all the switches," he retorted, and then clumsily pulled on his pink leggings.

Billy glowered back. “Since you helped yourself to his flat iron, you could borrow more clothes; he’s literally you.”

“He was dressed too schlubby for my taste,” White dismissed.

“ _Schlubby?_ That was a Gucci sweater he had on.”

“He looked like a TV dad.”

“You’re ridiculous. He looked amazing.”

White narrowed his eyes. “Anyway, I agree with 'other me'; I’m not here to get comfy. If I change my wardrobe, I'm scared I’ll jinx it.”

Billy exhaled in defeat. “You do have a point. It’s only a matter of time until Rusty finds those plans.”

He hoped.

\---

They found Peter milling about the kitchen. Everything about him was clean and effortless, like a mid-century movie star in his black button up, rolled sleeves, and ivory wide-legged trousers.

He glanced up, eyes now sans the colored contacts, and brandished his pearly TV smile. “Hey, I’m glad you two are late risers, like me. Gotta get our beauty sleep, right?”

“Speak for yourself,” White replied. “I saw myself in the bathroom mirror, I look like death.”

“No, no, you’re definitely rosier today.”

“I steamed myself like a lobster so I don't think that counts.”

“You’ll perk up once we get some protein in ya.” He lifted the lid of a frying pan. “I made some breakfast — it’s just your basic scramble. I’m no in-house chef, but I figured I’d try to be a good host.”

“Do you usually have a chef?” Billy inquired, looking around the space that seemed built for entertaining.

“What? Nah, we’re rich, but we’re not _complete_ tools. Besides, my husband’s a freakin' wizard in the kitchen.” Billy and his roommate exchanged uncomfortable glances, worried the other would say something. “When he’s away I kinda order in by drone.”

“Drones? That’s a thing?” White asked, relieved to change the subject.

“Oh yeah. It’s Billy’s invention. It was made to be a _Meals-on-Wheels_ thing for the housebound, but then capitalism, and also lazy bastards like me.” He gave a feeble chuckle and then a sigh. “Shit, I’m not supposed to be talking about stuff before he gets here.”

“We’ll pretend we didn’t hear,” Billy said.

Peter dished out their breakfast, and the three chewed in awkward silence.

“Well, what _can_ we talk about?” White finally asked.

“Hell if I know,” his doppelganger said. “The weather?”

“Is talking about weather a paradox?” Billy replied. “Like, do you have global warming?”

“ _Woof_ , what’s global warming?” Peter asked.

“ _See_ , you already blew it,” White chastised his companion.

“Well,” Peter tapped his fingers on the marble, “is it a paradox to ask if you wanna be naughty with me and start the day with mimosas?”

“I seriously thought that sentence was gonna end way different,” White said.

His double grinned. “Now _that_ would cause a paradox.”

“If there ever was a purpose to day drink,” Billy said, even though he rarely passed up Rusty's awful concoctions.

“I’ll just open up this pink champagne we got left over from Bowie’s birthday party.”

White gripped the counter. “As in David Bowie?”

“Do you guys know another?” He beamed and popped it open.

\---

As it did on many occasions, the drink was precisely what they needed to break the ice. The tanned host seemed to be in his element; smiling, laughing, name-dropping celebrities he’d encountered during his work. The other two gazed back in rapt attention, envious of a life where their heroes were occasional house guests.

“Hello? Peter, are you in here?” echoed a voice that made Billy freeze. _His own._

The summoned man jumped to his feet. “Billy? Hey. You need help with bags?”

“I hauled these through LaGuardia, I’m fine,” he replied, and they could hear luggage rolling.

Peter dashed out of sight. "Sorry to call you in early."

"It's alright. My engagements were done, I just had to cancel a brunch with Hamilton and Phineas."

White turned to the nervous Billy. “Yikes, rubbin' elbows with villains in this world?” he joked, though there was tension in it.

“Maybe they’re good guys here.”

“So then, just an amputee support group?” White whispered.

Before Billy could bite back, they heard the footsteps nearing. And then he understood the uncanny horror of being face to face with the man he could’ve been.

The other Billy removed his aviators in incredulity. He was smartly dressed, spritely, almost younger looking and yet much more mature in presence, as if the man commanded respect with ease. And the most glaring contrast was how he remained unmarred, in possession of both eyes and hands.

“Wow.” He carried worry in his brow as he studied the state of his doppelganger, but soon he flashed a calm smile, like a doctor before a tense surgery. “Hi. I’d...” His eyes flitted between the gawking duo. “I’d normally introduce myself, but the familiarity is the problem at hand.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” White said, but Billy again could not find the words.

A determined expression crossed him. “It’s only polite. I’m William.” He reached out to his anxious double, but then drew his palm back in confliction.

“What's wrong?” Billy asked nervously.

“I... If I touch myself from another dimension, does that cause a paradox?”

“I already shook my hand,” Peter said dryly.

William's aura of cool faltered. “Peter, you _airhead._ ”

“ _What,”_ he whined. “You had time to come to grips with this, but I got thrown into a very weird situation — _Excuse me_ for not handling it so clinically.”

"Clinically? You could've blinked yourself out of existence!" William scolded. "I guess if the multiverse ever shatters, we'll know who's to blame."

"C'mon, Billy, not in front of the _us_."

William glanced back at the pair, like the argument embarrassed him, but the guests met him with smiles. He took a centering breath. “I guess one more won’t kill us. Nice to... meet me.”

“Hi,” Billy said stiffly as he shook his double’s hand.

“Hi. You alright?”

“As alright as you are.”

“Well, I didn’t leave my home dimension. And Mr. White, uh—” He peered up at him. “I like the look. You seem very comfortable in your skin.”

White raised an eyebrow. “Thanks, I hope that’s not sarcasm.”

“Truly, it’s not.” William said, waving his hands. “I may be lackluster right _now_ , but I enjoy a bolder style.”

“I think you're snappy as all hell,” White said.

Billy frowned. If his well-dressed doppleganger was 'lackluster', then Billy was borderline ragged. He tried to adjust his ill-fitting clothes. William noticed.

“I know it’s hard without a tailor,” he said with empathy. “Trust me, I’ve been there.”

“Well,” White stuck out his hand, “it’s nice to meet you, other Billy.”

”I prefer William, unless we’re on close personal terms. I don’t like being patronized, I mean, I was a child star once.” The way he said it was both braggadocious and resentful, reminding them of Rusty.

Peter gestured between the two groups. “Well, they’re _us_ , so that’s…” He shrugged. “Kinda as personal as one can get.”

“I can respect it,” White said.

William gave a warm smile. “And I appreciate that.”

“You're lucky; he’s _way worse_ with other people,” Peter said. “He insists on _Doctor._ ”

“Yeah, because all my socializing — other than you, Jamina, and the Ventures — is on a professional level.” William exhaled. “Anyway, I hope you’re both feeling comfortable in our home.” He tensed. “Our... _dimension_ , and uh Peter’s home—”

“They know about us now, babe.”

His eyes widened. “What? _All_ of it?”

“I didn’t go full Taxi Cab Confessions, but we _are_ wearing matching rings.”

“Oh.” William suddenly dropped his shoulders like he’d been lugging an invisible bag. “That’s one less thing to worry about.” He cringed at his guests. “I’m not a very good liar.”

“That’s funny,” White said, “my Billy’s a pro. He even had this scam where —”

“It wasn't a scam if I was working for free,” Billy hissed.

“OK, sorry, I meant _medical malpractice_."

Billy turned back to his double. “Please don't put stock in anything he says; he likes to push buttons.”

“I understand all too well.” William swept his arm toward Peter. “I’m friggin’ married to this.”

“You better be nicer to me," Peter said, "'cause I was just about to pour you a mimosa.”

William wrinkled his nose. “Are you all day-drinking?”

“Don’t fret, it's just the one,” Peter said, and the others nodded. " _So far_ , I mean.”

“Well…” He ran a hand across his brow. “If there was ever an occasion...”

Peter put a hand on his hip. “You know, the more we talk, I really think we got enough in common to get through this mess easy-peasy.”

\---

More drinks were mixed in the kitchen, and William traded his sunglasses for handsome horn-rimmed specs.

He caught Billy staring again and smiled. “Peter needs them too, but he absolutely refuses.”

“Only for reading up close,” he argued. “Teleprompter is far enough away, and it's already a pain to have in the colored contacts."

"And that's why he has to print things out in twenty-point bold."

"I have an image to uphold.”

"And paper to waste." William raised a brow at him. “Is my ‘sexy librarian’ look not good enough for you?”

“It’d ruin the Miami Vice thing I got goin’ on. Can you imagine Sonny Crockett in a pair of those?”

William adjusted them. “Tubbs wore glasses once.”

“Yeah, _once," Peter said_. "And _two_ librarians isn’t sexy, anyhow; it’s just a nerd convention.”

“Whatever.” He clinked champagne flutes with his husband and they had a soft conversation where Peter brought him up to speed.

Billy turned away. “ _Ugh_ , I don’t even wanna look at them,” he muttered to White.

“I know, gives me the willies too.”

“No, not that. They're so…” He clenched a fist. “So _suave!_ Like they're _us,_ but cooler than we'll ever be — How does that even work?”

“I dunno, I still think my guy looks pretty plain.”

“But it's so effortless.”

“You…” White shifted his weight. “You prefer his style?”

Billy peered at him. “What? Does it matter?” He sighed. “Anyway, goddamn it... I wish I looked good.”

“You look fine.”

“You’re joking, right?” he said blandly. “Vitality aside, I'm missing things.”

“OK, so he had some luck, but could've had a facelift too.” White shrugged. “Maybe what _he's_ missing is your confidence. Confidence is the sexiest trait, y’know.”

Billy took a bashful sip of his drink. “It’s not very sexy on Rusty Venture,” he said, and White laughed.

“Well, alright, that's _one_ exception to the rule. But that’s also your opinion as a straight guy.”

Billy furrowed his brow. “I can tell when men are sexy.”

White called to his double. “Hey.” They looked at him in interest. “Is Rusty Venture sexy?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter replied defensively.

“We've been debating, and you guys are into dudes, so I figured I’d ask —”

Billy waved his hand, remembering the ‘home-wrecker’ comment from the previous night. “Don't answer, he’s being weird again.”

A telephone rang and Peter darted for the wall receiver. He answered and immediately frowned.

“Speak of the devil. What’s up, Doc?” Everyone else watched him intently. “Yeah, Billy’s here. Things got a lil messy, so the other two know about the holy matrimony and all.” He sighed as Dr. Venture’s voice raised on the line. “Listen, Venture; you told them you got kids, you made them tell you useless crap about their world, so let’s at least be on the same playing field.” More talking. He covered the receiver. “Doc’s gonna vid-call in twenty. Maybe grab a snack and get comfy, ‘cause the guy can yap.”

William turned to them and nervously clasped his hands. “How do you take your kale chips?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made that kale chips joke 'cause I'm like, "ew kale chips haha" but then I looked up recipes for kale chips and now I want kale chips, anyway that's what lockdown does to you.
> 
> Anywho, the character of Jamina is a cameo of sorts of my friend who literally bribed me into writing this in the first place. I think I wrote the majority of this chapter a literal year ago before I ever imagined I'd post it publicly, time flies.
> 
> Next chapter will probably be later than what I've been doing, because I need to shuffle some things for pacing. But I'll do my best to have a semi-consistent schedule! Thank you to everyone's who's been reading <3 Every comment is so encouraging :')


	7. Der Telefon Anruf (You Are Close and Yet So Far)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has been Happening to me a lot within the last week and I've kinda mentally blue-screened so bear with me. Despite everything I think there's some good lines in here. I was supposed to post this hours ago but there was a cat on my lap and well, you know cat law.
> 
> CW for some talk of experiences with homophobia

**Universe 1, VenTech Tower, 2 Hours Earlier**

“This level of unprofessionalism is insulting,” Rusty said as he hung up his cell. “I’ve texted, and I’ve called, and all I get is garbled dial tones.”

“You sure this basement even gets reception?” Brock asked.

“It damn well better,” he scoffed. “Have you _seen_ the number of zeroes on our telecommunications bill?”

“Maybe they’re sleeping it off.”

“ _Obviously_ , but I don’t think they’ve even set up a voicemail. _White_ I'd expect this from, but now Billy's become a disappointment.” He rifled through his colleagues’ mini-fridge in ire. “You know, the amount I’ve done for these _slackers_ over the years—”

“Two fingers pointin’ back, Doc —”

“— after all their begging, and brown-nosing. You think they’d show some goddamn initiative —” He waved his hands emphatically — “But here we are again, my ass on the line and _‘Conjectural Technologies_ ’ true to their name; all talk and no results.”

“Can't you cut them some slack, just for today?” Brock said, and Rusty turned to him in indignation. “You let 'em go out to that party with us, and it's their weekend off.”

“Permission was granted _weeks_ before I knew your people would drop the teleporter back in my lap. And besides, one of those layabouts could at least pick up their phone. It’s noon!”

“After a night like that, they’re either hung over as hell or too embarrassed to show their faces.”

“ _Embarrassed?_ So White and I accidentally set off a brawl,” Rusty said flippantly. “But we weren’t the ones who escalated it into a full-blown riot. I saw a woman use her stiletto as a shiv.”

“Yeah, but like, I think they broke up or somethin'…” Brock shrugged.

“They ‘break up’ all the time.” Rusty vindictively opened a soda from White’s hoard. “I’m not going to cry for them.”

“ _That’s just it_ ,” Brock said. “There were tears and everything — it was kinda disturbing, actually. And this is _me_ talkin'.”

Rusty let out a long sigh. “Well. Maybe I _could_ let them recoup. I’m a bit hungover myself, and their constant banter can trigger migraines.” He took a pensive sip. “But if Billy leaves me ‘on read’ for a whole day —”

He was cut short by the sudden astral projection of one Dr. Orpheus.

“ _VENTURE!_ ” the specter bellowed, causing Rusty to dump diet cola down his front. “HAVE YOU ONCE AGAIN MEDD— _Oh,_ is this your new lab?” Orpheus asked casually. “How chic.”

“Yes, and this is _dry clean only_ ,” Rusty said, mopping his turtleneck with scrap paper, “so thanks for knocking, dick.”

Orpheus peered at him. “Is it not a tad impractical to own _dry clean only_ lab-wear?”

“You know what's more impractical? Doing everything in a cape.”

“I’ll admit it has dragged ectoplasm into the foyer on occasion. I shall send you the number of said mantle’s cleaners. After an exhaustive hunt across the tri-state area, I now 'have _a guy'_.” Orpheus held a finger to his chin in thought. “Now where was I? Oh yes — THADDEUS VENTURE!” he shouted, making the other two wince. “HAVE YOU ONCE AGAIN MEDDLED IN THE AFFAIRS OF TIME AND SPACE?”

“That was one time,” Rusty whined, but then blinked in confusion. “Wait, how did _you_ know about that?”

“I am in tune with the ether! The cosmos _scream out_ in agony!” His voice raised. “A rift violently carved into the very fabric of our reality! _Spilling out its contents_ — like a leak in an above-ground pool!”

Rusty shrugged. “I mean we _did_ test a teleporter again, but—”

“No, no, it's not that,” Orpheus said, again calmly. He cleared his throat. “It was at about a quarter till midnight. A strong psychic disturbance jolted me from my slumber—”

“You go to bed before midnight?” Rusty said, amused.

Orpheus put a hand to his chest. “A perfectly reasonable bedtime for any, but I am not a _fraternity_ boy either.”

“It’s just…” Rusty smirked, “I thought necromancers had a _'witching hour'_ , as it were.” He looked at Brock for approval.

“Guess there's not much to ' _mance_ ' in Manhattan,” Brock said dryly.

“You'd be surprised,” Orpheus said. “But alas, I too contend with the curses of middle-age, and now find myself drowsy by the first musical segment of the Saturday Night Live.”

“Age has nothin' to do with it,” Brock said, “the music’s all crap now. If Hank and Dean's stuff wasn't digitized I would've tossed half those albums into the sun.”

“You must open your mind, Mr. Samson, to the cosmos and to the Top 40 Hits. My pumpkin is quite fond of her Chemical Romance, and I too find the cabaret of it...” he trailed off as Rusty stared back with annoyance. “But yes, you’re right — we're straying far from the subject at hand.” He peeked over his shoulder at the abandoned pads. “This teleportation device, how does it function?”

“It’s molecular reconfiguration.” Rusty said. “Plain and simple.”

“I see. _‘Simple’_. And you’re certain this doesn’t… harness the power of the nether-realms?”

“Am I certain I didn’t create a portal to Hell? _Very.”_

"Yes, well forgive my skepticism, but you have lied to me before."

"I don’t lie, I evade the question. Perfectly permissible in court." Rusty's cellphone began ringing. "Oh, hold on, Orpheus, I'm getting another call." He studied the ID. "And _there you have it_. _Hello,_ " he answered, not hiding his annoyance.

"Yes, Dr. Venture?" said a familiar voice on the line.

"It’s Billy," he whispered to Brock, before putting it on speaker. "What in God’s name have you —"

"Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, dear."

His jaw went slack. "I’m sorry — Who is this?"

"It’s Rose, you know, William’s mother."

"Mrs. Whalen, of course," he said, trying to regain his faux charm. "I’m so sorry, I mistook you for your son."

"Now why would you think a silly thing like that?" she asked.

"Not a clue," he said sarcastically. "And if you’ll excuse me asking, I have no idea why you’re calling me or how you even got my —"

"I would like to speak to my son, please."

He took pause. "Come again?"

"My Billy; is he available? Or Peter, maybe? They must've turned their telephones off and, well, I didn't even get to give them their kiss goodbye, let alone ask if they'd be home for dinner."

He swallowed. "Mrs. Whalen. Are you… certain they even came home last night?"

"Well, no. Did they fall asleep in the lab again —" She laughed. "Oh they're busy little bees, they just tucker themselves right out."

Venture looked to Brock with worry. "You know, they're not in at the moment but I'll have them give you a ring."

"Oh thank you, dear."

Rusty ended the call and took a breath. "Looks like they've pulled a Hank."

"Have I interrupted something?" Orpheus asked.

"The boys are missing," Rusty said.

Orpheus's eyes widened. "Hank and Dean are _missing?_ " he said in soft fear.

"Sorry, I meant White and Billy—"

"DR. WHALEN IS MISSING?" Orpheus howled.

"You didn't have to shout it _directly_ into my ear."

"This is certainly a vicissitude of tremendous scale! I shall be there at once!" he announced before vanishing.

“Um. Why?” Venture asked the space he once occupied. He turned to Brock. “And what are my sons? Chopped liver?”

"Well, if you get Orpheus on the case, it'll save us time and effort trying to find them ourselves," Brock said.

"Why is everyone acting like this is the end of the world?” Rusty exclaimed. “Billy goes missing every month, it's practically his career."

"But not with White gone too." Brock pulled out his own phone. "I'll call up the OSI, see if we got another mass kidnapping situation."

Rusty adjusted his frames. "I suppose with the teleporter in play, the Guild could have a field day."

"Yeah." Brock's eyes narrowed. "Nice going."

\---

Rusty glared at the now-tangible man wringing hands in front of him. “Tell me again, Orpheus; what possibly makes this an emergency to you?”

“You don’t understand, I gathered every ounce of my telesthesia, but I simply could not sense either of them out in the world.”

“Isn’t that normal? When _I_ need them you always act like your Cerebro powers are half useless.”

“I am referring to a sixth sense, not a homing spell. I can discern the energies familiar to me, like chimes in the breeze, which allows me to astral project to their location.” Orpheus frowned. “But Dr. Whalen’s refulgent resonance is absent entirely.”

“What are you saying?” Rusty’s eyes widened. “You’re saying Billy’s dead or something?”

“Not dead per se, but a missing energy is never a good sign.”

Rusty took pause. “Can this ‘sense’ of yours reach out into space?”

Orpheus seemed caught off guard. “Well, I... haven’t found an occasion to assay such a theory. Has he access to that manner of travel?”

“Let’s just say the Guild has a meteor that I too had the _pleasure_ of visiting,” he said bitterly.

“Then it is not out of the realm of possibility.”

Rusty sighed as he examined the empty lab. His eyes flashed to Orpheus. “So why make this _your_ problem? Slow day at Ghostbusters HQ?”

“I have a code of virtue to my compatriots. It happens that Dr. Whalen is an honorary member of the Triad —”

“And I guess _my_ invite got lost in the mail?”

“— _And_ for his gratis operation at moment’s notice,” Orpheus said purposefully, “ _it is our duty to repay the deed if he himself is in dire need!_ You see, it rhymes.”

“Well, Mother Goose, he didn’t seem to cash in a ‘Get Out of Kidnapping Free’ card, did he?”

“A debt such as that cannot go unpaid,” Orpheus insisted. “If he... _passed_ before the transaction, well —”

“You didn’t swear a blood oath, did you?”

“More of a spit and shake.”

“Ugh, what is this, a playground?” He recoiled. “You know that’s not legally binding, otherwise we’d see a lot more twelve-year-olds on Judge Judy.”

“The fact remains, Mr. Venture, I must abide by my code of honor to sleep at night.” He frowned. “And don’t _you_ want them safe and sound? They are your best friends.”

“Billy?” Rusty let out a short laugh. “We’ve been over this; he’s a fan, not a friend. And White, I don’t know what the hell he is, a mooch? A charity case?”

“I know this is not true,” Orpheus said. “Perhaps you’re resentful towards them presently, but what if they’re gone another day? How long until you sit by the phone, how long until you lie awake, until the regrets of—”

“Alright, alright.” Rusty dismissed. “My entire R&D lab going missing doesn’t bode well for me either. I’ll have to hire more replacements, and give them living wage… Ugh, they’ll want a _union._ ”

“I _suppose_ that’s a step in the right direction,” Orpheus lamented.

“You know, the Guild hotline is basically useless, but maybe Brock can get a certain someone on a direct call.”

\---

“You're Councilwoman One,” Rusty said. “Surely you're on top of these things.”

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch frowned back from the giant screen. “I'm top brass, but I'm not their mother.”

“Oh, how much effort would it really take to send out a group text?”

“You’re kidding, right? I have over seventy registered villains in Manhattan alone, it’s a logistical nightmare, and it’s not my problem.” She took a breath. “Like I said, if the Quizboy and his sidekick wanna file a complaint with us after all is said and done, I can look into it then.”

“Look into it?” Brock replied. “I swear the kid gets ‘napped monthly by you guys.”

“And if he _were_ a kid, then we could do something about it,” she continued. “Until then it's like telling Picasso not to paint, or the Eviscerator not to… eviscerate.”

“No accountability,” Rusty snipped. “Believe me, I'll have a lawsuit the likes of which you've never seen if his poor mother gets him back in a body bag.”

“Listen, I like the guy too,” she said more sympathetically. “He and his partner chatted me up at your yard sale, it was very cute. I'm not gonna toss Whalen to the wolves, especially when he's got such a gift for the surgery.”

“And White?” Brock pressed.

“No offense, but is he really essential?” she asked.

“Not to us,” Brock said, “but that's Billy's emotional support moron, and he can hold a grudge.”

The councilwoman sighed. "Alright, point taken. It wouldn't hurt to check in. An unsanctioned arching is bad for all of us."

“Is it actually unsanctioned?” Brock asked. “Or are you just not telling us that he’s on your little moonbase.”

“It’s not a ‘moonbase’, we’re not _that_ cliche,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “And if you’re asking if we’ve taken him to HQ, the answer is no.”

“But if you had, would you even tell us?”

“What reason would I have to lie?” she asked and Brock raised a brow. “What I mean is it’s no _big secret_ that we borrow him on the regular.” She then typed on her compact-shaped phone. "Look, I’ll do you a solid since it’s Whalen we’re talking about. We both know his nemesis has been... _incompetent_ in the past. I can give him a call, pretend it's a performance review or something. But then you owe me double."

Rusty fumed. " _We_ owe _you_?"

"Well, for one I have multiple antagonists laid up in ICU with OSI related injuries." Her lip curled. "For fuck's sake, Doc, what did Queen Eliza-Shiv possibly do to you?"

"Come at us with a shiv!"

“Did you say 'Doc'?” called a voice off screen that made Rusty groan. “Who is that? Do I hear Venture?”

“No sweetie. It's uh, Dr. Orpheus.” She made a shooing motion. The other two ducked out of frame, while a flummoxed Orpheus remained.

_“Who?”_

“Honey, it's a _business call,_ ” she replied.

The Monarch pushed her desk chair out of the way and peered at the screen. “I knew it!” he shouted. “That's the Dracula prick who set my shoes on fire!”

His wife rolled back in. “When?”

“What do you mean ‘when’? At Venture's crappy yard sale!”

“God, that was _several_ years ago.” She turned to the camera. “I'm gonna go, but when I hear back from the nemesis, I'll let you know.”

“Oh… ‘Kay," Orpheus said with a nervous smile. "Well, ta-ta,”

The Monarch smirked at him. “Finally got a villain, huh?” His grin turned to irate confusion. “Hey are you in Venture's—”

“ _Good bye,_ ” she said, and the call cut out.

“Well. Not much we can do now,” Brock said, before glancing at Orpheus. “I dunno why you had to come all the way down.”

“I wanted to try something,” Orpheus replied. “A feat of considerable psychic prowess I’ve never attempted before, because frankly there was never a reason. But it may help me... _feel_ better.”

“And what’s that?” Rusty asked.

Orpheus turned to him. “Hold my hand.”

“Excuse me?”

“If two of us focus on him, I can attempt to extend my telepathic range further than the confines of our planet.”

Brock examined him. “And then you can ‘project’?”

“I can sense whether he’s alive, but not much more.” Orpheus reached out, but Rusty shirked.

“I’m not going to _hold your hand_ ,” Rusty snapped.

“ _Venture_ —”

“Why me? Why can’t Brock do it?”

Orpheus huffed. “Fine, why don’t you just hold up your arm.” Rusty did so, and Orpheus grabbed him around the wrist. “We must concentrate, open ourselves as if we are one with the galaxy. If we cannot hear his effervescence, we must focus our hearts on his.”

“What is this, black magic or an episode of Care Bears?”

“Focus now. A deep breath in. Find his soul, his subconscious. The dreamer. The helping-hand. The one fan left of Rusty Venture.”

“Ouch,” Rusty hissed, and Brock laughed.

_“Focus, now!"_ He repeated with intensity. "Remember when he called you his boyhood hero. Your relief when he reattached your arm. How you felt when he was the only one who remembered your birthday —”

“Why are they all digs at — OW!” Rusty yelped, wrenching his arm away from Orpheus’s vice-grip. “Goddamn, that's going to leave a bruise — You could’ve fractured something.”

Orpheus stared off into space, a look of abject horror in his eyes, which slowly moved to Rusty. “Mr. Venture. I… I regret to inform you… our William Whalen is no longer in this universe.”

Rusty froze. “What. Billy’s… gone?” He brought his arms in close. “He’s really dead?”

“No, he’s very much alive,” Orpheus said and Rusty’s shoulders relaxed. “What I mean is he’s no longer in _this_ universe.”

“Oh…” Rusty cringed. “Crap.”

“Crap indeed,” Orpheus said gravely.

Brock furrowed his brow. “Wait, are you saying there’s others?” The other two nodded. “And _we_ can get there? Like in that show with the guy from _Indiana Jones?"_

Rusty sighed. “ _Yeeeah._ There’s uh… some things I haven’t told you.”

\---

**Universe 2, White Residence, Present**

Billy felt a weird buzzing in the back of his brain but chalked it up to the champagne. 

The two parties sat awkwardly across from each other on the opposite sofas. The guests were a good two feet apart, while the other duo had no personal space to speak of as William leaned on his husband’s crossed leg.

“So.” William nervously cleared his throat. “Peter — _My_ Pete — tells me you have no idea how you got here.”

“Further than accidentally falling down a wormhole?” Billy replied. "Not really."

“We were a little preoccupied and intoxicated,” White said, “so our environmental awareness was, _eh_ , piss poor.”

“Yeah, Shore Leave was throwing this bachelor party for his ex boyfriend and—”

“Who?” Peter asked.

“Oh, c’mon,” White said in disbelief, “you guys don’t know Shore Leave in this verse?”

“Brock’s friend?” Billy offered. “Like a camp gay G.I. Joe?”

“He’s rescued Billy from bad guys a bunch of times.”

“Only twice.”

William gave a slightly resentful sigh. “I wish _we_ had more queer friends.”

“Seriously?” White asked. “Me and Billy know almost as many as not.”

“I’m not big on the party scene,” William said. “Aside from my conferences, I’m a homebody. And Peter, he’s not flamboyant. He’s more conservative.”

“It’s the image thing,” his husband added. “Going from a sex symbol for cougars to an openly queer TV host already trimmed the gigs I get offered.”

“That… That’s shitty,” White said with disdain.

“That’s showbiz.” He smoothed back his hair. “Sure I'd probably get different work if I lean into that NoHo persona that’s super in right now, but it’d be insincere. I might be married to a guy, but I’m still just as much of a ‘Masshole’ as ever.”

White leaned in with interest. “You know they tried to get me to drop my ‘accent’ for Quizboys?”

“Do I? I was there, buddy. I said it’s part of—”

“My charm!” White finished along with him. William made eye-contact with Billy and gave a defeated sigh.

“Hey,” Billy said, “speaking of friends… Can I bring up the elephant in the room? I mean, the one that isn’t here.” He fixated on his double. “And that you weren't here for.”

“That’s the vaguest request I’ve ever heard,” William said with a bemused stare.

“There was that girl here — You mentioned her earlier? Uh, _Jasmine_ —”

William peered at his husband. “Jamina was here? But you have nothing on your schedule.”

“Exactly,” Peter replied. “We were doing some warm calls; I’m gettin' tired of sitting on my ass all day.”

“Wait —” William pointed at the guests in interest — “you two don’t know Jamina?”

“Weird right?” Peter exclaimed. “They thought she was my wife!”

“Really?” William cringed. “That’s... _awkward._ ”

“Who the heck is she?” White asked.

“Our daughter.”

The other two balked, but Peter rolled his eyes. “Sarcasm doesn’t fly in this situation, babe, they take _everything_ at face value.”

“I see your point,” William said as the duo sat back with relief. “Jamina is his PA and business partner, and our closest friend.”

“Jammy’s been with me since the 90s,” his husband explained. “She stuck around through the highs and lows, and loyalty's hard to find in this world. We kind of adopted each other.”

“Her family treats us like we’re kin too. Which is nice, since…” William trailed off.

Peter straightened up. “I dunno about you two, but I don’t talk to my folks. I’ve tried, but they cut me off a long time ago.”

White nodded solemnly. Billy squirmed at the tension and again had to break it. “Well, my run ended in the 80s, so, we know where our divergence might start.” He gave a hopeful smile.

"Must have been a bummer," William said. "But not surprising — I mean, there were so many times I guessed right by the skin of my teeth.”

Billy looked away, and White let out an awkward laugh. “Listen, there’s no use bringin' up the past like _that_ — I mean, poor Billy doesn’t need to dwell on it.”

“I’m sorry,” William said, ashamed. “I… I didn’t mean to be uncouth.”

Billy muttered something about it being OK, before White cut him off. “But, hey, if anyone wants to talk about how great it is to be me…” He shrugged at Peter, who gladly obliged.

A few more minutes passed as White shoveled home-made kale chips into his mouth, enraptured by his double’s tale of career highlights. Proof that he could hold attention if the other person talking was himself, and maybe eat something green to boot.

William interrupted a more low-brow story and asked Peter to set up the call. Billy had an impulse to check the time on his phone, forgetting it sat in the bedroom, rendered useless by the lack of internet.

“Channel 3, Peter, _3_ ,” William said firmly as his husband stared into the TV static.

“I thought it was 2.”

“No, you whined about having to do another click for the Sega.”

The telecom screen came into focus, with a logo adorned placard that read: PLEASE HOLD FOR VENTURE INDUSTRIES

“So goddamn pretentious,” Peter hissed, and William shushed him.

The card vanished once the clock hit the hour and Dr. Venture appeared, apparently sitting in his father’s study. “Morning, gentleman. Good to see the universe is still intact despite everything. Dr. White, my apologies for interrupting your conference.”

William batted a hand. “No one’s at fault. As of _now_.”

“Anyone else pop up, Doc?” Peter asked.

“No, but I did have to tidy an absolute _mess_ of overturned files. Things of a… sensitive nature.” He examined the intruders. “Tell me, did you two really _wake up_ on my floor?”

White raised his newest Gatorade. “I can't remember everything, but trust me; there was no way I was doin’ anything in that state. Except maybe lying in the fetal position.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, “it literally felt like we hit your universe's floor while we were still standing up in ours.”

“I'd go on believing I dreamed that impact if Billy hadn't brought it up. Now I know how Silly Putty feels when you chuck it at the wall.”

“But White _did_ stumble a lot once we were up,” Billy mused, “he could have knocked something over.”

“Oh, throw me under the bus.”

“Doctor Venture,” William said, “are you sure it couldn’t have been Dean who left out those files? He’s called me at odd hours while studying, you know,” he added with a proud smile, like he was trying to impress his double.

“I wouldn’t put the snooping past him, though he’s a bit of a clean freak.” Venture sipped from a coffee cup emblazoned with his TV show's logo. “Anyhow, I’ve found nothing about interdimensional travel so far, save for a few scribbled notes on the multiverse theory they teach in school.”

White held up a finger. “‘Scuse me, I must've missed that day.”

“Take this one, Dr. White,” Venture insisted and William nodded dutifully. “I’m running on fumes.”

William turned to his guests with a scholarly air. “In the multiverse theory, all possibilities for your future are a conceivable reality. The convergence points based, of course, on the percentile likelihood that they'll occur in ours,” he explained. “They use it to motivate us through college.”

“In any reality we could be the perfect version of ourselves,” Peter said, “so might as well try to make it this one.”

“So like…” White’s eyes darted, “we could be out somewhere livin' in a world where dinosaurs never died or WWII never happened?” he asked.

William waved his hand. “No, no, that's not how the multiverse works. I mean, a universe full of dinosaurs and humans could _theoretically_ exist, but scientifically evolution had a too specific path to allow for that.”

His husband leaned forward with a grin. “But if you’re sayin' there’s a timeline where they Jurassic Park’d some anti-fascist dinos into existence, now _that’s_ possible!”

“But we as individuals would never exist in that universe,” William said hastily, “because that’s like... _way too many_ butterfly wings — It’d be an entirely different branch than ours.”

“It’s _what_ now?” White asked.

“The multiverse, it... It's literally an infinite amount of timelines, each correlating with minute decisions by a single person, intentional or otherwise.”

“Every time the path branches, _boom_ , that many realities appear,” Peter added.

Dr. Venture’s voice returned to the line. “A billion trillion little things had to have taken place for any of us to be alive... Therefore all our universes had to have branched after some point that insured all of our conceptions.”

“And you all know this for a fact?” Billy asked.

“No, not really,” his double replied. “But in the theory of things, something had to have happened to each of us at the same point in our lives to ensure our similarities. Most likely our timelines branch somewhere in our youth, usually due to the actions of those around us. We’re rarely old enough to make those major life decisions for ourselves.”

“Theoretically speaking,” Dr. Venture mused, “because my life is so much… _ahem,_ different than the one from your world, the universal shift must’ve happened before either of you were born.”

“At one time, I'd agree with you, Doc.” William’s glasses glinted as he fidgeted. “But for us four to all be here. To be interconnected with such specific people at the same times, despite multiple divergences... I dunno, it kind of... makes me reconsider everything I believed.”

“Don’t get too discouraged, William,” Dr. Venture said. “Since the two of them _do_ exist in tandem in another world, it must have paralleled again for some time and then taken another branch after you met in your respective lives.”

“I’m very curious to know,” William said sheepishly.

“I hate to admit it, but I am as well,” Dr. Venture sighed. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

“But satisfaction brought it back,” William finished.

“Iggy Pop is a wise man,” his husband said.

“What— I’m not quoting Iggy Pop, it’s a real proverb.”

“The first bit, sure,” White said, “but the second part’s from the ‘New Values’ album.” Peter nodded.

“For the love of—” Dr. Venture interrupted. “ _Listen._ We’re not here to play Quizboys; I just want us all to be on the same page, as scientists. Save for Peter.”

White looked disappointed. “I’m not a scientist in this world?”

“Eh, I dabble,” his double shrugged.

“He’s a big help in my lab though —” William said. “The computer skills are _very_ handy. Also, he can type freakishly fast.”

Peter flashed a boisterous grin. “I got long fingers, he calls me his sexy secretary.” He paused. “And I just made it awkward.”

“Well, anyhow,” Dr. Venture continued. “Why don’t you all map out this ‘convergence theory’ a bit more. Maybe my _own_ divergence from the timeline is later than I suspect.” He took another sip from his coffee. “I’ll keep looking to see if my father kept anything away from prying eyes. Multidimensional travel is much more catastrophic than, say, a state-of-the-art hair tonic.”

“So that explains it,” White said slyly, and his double snorted.

Dr. Venture frowned and ended the video call.

William drew a breath and clasped his hands, again taking his role as nervous host. “Now that we’re sorted out, I guess it’s free for all.”

White stared back. “So what, are we just gonna start spilling our life stories?” he asked.

“It would make sense to just compare and contrast differences,” William said. “We don’t have to go too deep, unless it’s warranted.”

“I don’t have the best memory,” Billy said. “ _Which we’ll probably get into_ —” he added with disdain — “but I can tell you for sure I’ve never gotten to the ‘fame and fortune’ stage of life.” Both Pete Whites looked uncomfortable.

“Then maybe we should split up?” William said. “These could be very, um, intimate details about our lives. It may be hard to do it in front of an audience, so to speak.”

“What, husbands have secrets they keep from each other?” White scoffed.

His double tensed, and William shook his head. “I meant more that I don’t know how much I want _you_ to know, Mr. White.”

White tossed his hair. “Well, I could tell you countless stories about Billy _he’d_ never share.”

“Then you really proved my point,” William said.

“I guess I should've seen that comin'.”

“You wanna go to my man cave?” Peter asked his double.

White grinned eagerly as he stood. “Man cave?”

“It’s disgusting,” William deadpanned.

“Is not,” his husband retorted, “I cleaned a lil—”

“I meant the phrase. But that too.”

Peter scowled. “Better than the friggin’ _Quiz-ebo_ , or whatever the hell you named it.”

“I didn’t start that one, I swear,” William said to the guests.

“Maybe _you_ didn’t,” Peter continued, “but ‘Three Daiquirí Billy’ might’ve.”

“At least ‘Three Daiquirí Billy’ doesn’t opt for cliches and picked something cute!”

“Oh, so you _do_ like the name,” his husband smugly replied.

“C’mon, _William_.” The bespectacled double pulled Billy to his feet, “You deserve to be around someone sophisticated for once.”

“Don’t drag _my guy_ into this,” Peter said, clutching White’s shoulders, “that’s very rude.”

White flashed his roommate an amused look, and Billy smiled back, both soothed by the fact that though some dynamics had changed, many had not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's a series wrap on Malcom. *applause* He has nothing to do with the plot, I just wanted to give him a joke.  
> Dr Orpheus is hard to write because I think 80% of his comedy is vocal inflection. Is he important to the plot? Mayhaps.
> 
> I also didn't realize until like writing this note that most of the chapter is phone calls and more sci-fi exposition so whoops sorry about that. I changed the title of this chapter to a Kraftwerk reference to reflect this. Hope it was OK and had enough jokes.
> 
> I'll have the next one up when I can, but I have no idea what the next few months hold for me. Thank you for your patience <3


	8. You Could Have It So Much Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew I'm a little late again but everything continues to happen so much, and I am finally in a lull between crises.
> 
> As a wise man once said "there aren't many jokes in this one", but I tried to squeeeeeze some in. Feel free to debate me about my success because I've been staring at this one way too long.
> 
> CWs: drinking, legal drug use, self-medicating, references to infidelity

After the past year in New York, Billy somehow forgot that air could be this fresh, taking it for granted during the decades he’d spent in his Colorado prison. A wave of guilt hit him for scoffing at his roommate’s recent gripes, but in his own defense the man never did much but complain.

Though they all agreed to reveal their stories to each other, Billy knew the game. People might have patronized his accidental years of living under a desert rock, but he’d had numerous run-ins with villains appealing to his good graces. He wasn’t naive enough to show all his cards to a person he still didn’t quite trust. Even if that man had his name, and face, and life. On second thought, the life similarities were yet to be known.

The other him — _William_ , as he kept insisting — seemed to read his unease. He was as smart as Billy, and maybe even smarter, because his venue of choice for their heart-to-heart was a fully stocked poolside cabana bar.

William grinned as his double inspected the structure. “We built this so Peter can come outside in the summer and feel, well, normal.”

“Mine just carries a parasol," Billy said. "And before you ask; yes, it's a pink one.”

“ _That_ is adorable,” William cooed. “You know, I’ll say it again; your guy seems so well adjusted in a way mine isn’t.”

“He’s not,” Billy retorted. “At all.”

William hummed in thought. “It could be a fluke, or that the timelines even themselves out.” He pulled mango juice from the mini fridge. “Sometimes I worry fame might have... warped Peter." Billy locked gazes with his unscathed self. "Well. Maybe fame warped me too... I guess we’ll find out,” William said lightly with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

\---

White followed Peter to the basement, then behind a wall of mosaic frosted glass, and into a very stylish entertainment room that doubled as a home studio. He spotted a small built-in sofa made up for sleeping, complete with alarm clock and reading glasses. Peter raced over and folded the blanket, like he was ashamed of the mess his husband had heckled him for.

“What’s that, a napping nook?” White asked.

“Ah, yeah, somethin’ like that. Every guy needs a sanctum, y’know?” He dropped onto a rattan lounge with a dramatic sigh.

By his visiting double’s standards, ‘Peter’ seemed a little high maintenance. He'd even added the ‘R’ back to his name, like he sought a status of perceived refinement. White himself demanded a level of comfort, but that rarely extended further than a well-stocked fridge, reliable internet, and a flat-iron. He knew the man he became when his vanity went unchecked, and when allowed to indulge in hedonism. Selfishly, he craved to be that person again.

White settled into an overly cushy leather armchair across from him. “Do you always look like this, fella?” he asked. “I assumed the tan would come off behind closed doors.”

“It’s more of a full-coverage skin dye,” Peter said, inspecting his manicured nails. “It’s different from a spray tan — it lasts over a month.”

“What? They can do that?”

“I dunno about ‘they’, but Billy formulated the thing for me.”

White slumped back. “Would’ve made my life on the air a lot easier.”

“Right?” Clearly Peter was more than relieved that someone empathized with him. “I don’t mind sittin’ in the makeup chair, but applying the stuff myself is torture.”

“So I presume the career is goin’ great,” White said, trying to hide his jealousy.

“Oh, better than.” His double beamed. “I only have to take the jobs that interest me — Billy makes the money ‘round here," Peter said grandly. "The STEM community adores him, he gets consultant contracts by the boatload, every news show wants him as their talking head. Technically, I wouldn’t need to work again — A weaker man might feel wounded pride, but I can’t complain,” he snickered. White recognized it as something put-on, but let it slide. “Allows me to live the life I want.”

“Well, heck.” White crossed his legs on an ottoman. “I’ve never considered myself the marrying type, but uh…” He scanned the room that looked straight from the pages of an early 90s design magazine, with its mirrors, creamy abstract sculptures, and jungle greens. “This is a lifestyle I could get behind,” White finished.

Minus the homosexual part.

\---

As Billy divulged the events that lead up to him and White meeting, he deliberately tiptoed around the game show’s cheating scandal. Perhaps it was unfair to be so selective with the truth, but there were buttons he didn’t want to push and trust William needed to earn.

That and his stylish double still disarmed him with his swagger and means. Maybe Billy just wanted to impress him.

With all the deftness of a skilled bartender, William had made them a large pitcher of perfect tropical libations. One sip elicited a moan of bliss from the visitor already struggling to hold a poker face.

It seemed William was quite an entertainer — or a lush.

“So you’re a surgeon?” the host asked after refilling another daiquiri from himself.

“It’s not how I make my living, but I’m the one putting people back together.”

“That’s incredible.” William leaned on the bar with wonder in his eyes. “I can’t even imagine.”

“You’ve never performed surgery?” Billy inquired.

“ _Goodness, no_. I’m too squeamish,” he chuckled, and it reminded Billy of his mother. “Guess our timelines diverged after Quizboys at the least, huh? No, I got my doctorate in engineering from MIT. Planned on making myself a bit of a name in the patents world. But the TV circuit started calling again." William's brow furrowed. " _Literally;_ They wanted me to go up against a robot Peter programmed. I won.” William shrugged. “People said it was rigged, but I don’t think my husband is the techie that even _he_ thinks he is.”

Billy took a long sip of his daiquiri for courage. “I guess I need to ask the obvious. When _did_... you two get together?”

“Oh, _way_ after my stint on the show,” William said, as if worried Billy would get the wrong idea. “I dated a little here and there, but... I dunno." He paused. "You think women throwing themselves at you is gonna be fun until it... Well, till you realize how shallow that love is. But he and I had a history you can’t fake. We knew each other in and out. I realized the person I'd been waiting for had been right in front of my nose.” He leaned forward. “And I mean... If you’re me, you can’t tell me you didn’t think he was crazy handsome.”

Billy chose not to answer. “So you like women too?”

“Don’t you?”

“Yeah. But kinda like... exclusively.”

“Well, I’m you,” William said casually. “I never pictured myself with a man, but when he kissed me for the first time... I saw galaxies.” He gave a distant smile, as if remembering an old flame rather than a current spouse. “Has that ever happened to you?”

“No,” Billy stated.

“Oh. I’m sure it will,” he replied with haste, likely realizing how much he had over his stranded double.

\---

“You’re really codependent with that Gatorade, huh?” Peter asked blankly.

White glanced up mid-gulp, realizing he’d tuned out a chunk of his double’s crowing. He’d heard the story about the Quizboys audition before, because he _lived_ it.

“I’m doin’ better, but I’m still a bit nauseated.”

“Yeah, I might be a smidge hungover myself,” Peter said, laying a hand against his forehead.

“Eh, I got a sneaking suspicion it’s because I didn’t take my meds today,” White grumbled. Peter appeared confused. “I’m on stimulants so I can pay attention at work. Luckily Billy’s antihistamine takes the edge off the crash, so I just steal one of those with my morning coffee.”

Peter’s brows raised. “Oh, I could get you one of my husband’s—”

“Don’t bother, I took the liberty of pawing through your medicine cabinet,” White admitted sheepishly, but Peter laughed. “I don't recognize this brand though, I think it’s got me kinda… anxious.” He’d tell himself it was the allergy medication and not the celebrity version of himself.

“Hey, I got somethin’ to help with that.” Peter surveyed the room as if expecting someone to pop out from behind a chair. “Now that we’re away from the buzzkills...” He pulled out a pen-like object from a marble drawer.

“Jesus, is that a crack pipe —?” White frantically waved it away. “I don’t do that —”

“Relax, it’s just a vaporizer. Y’know, pot?”

“You almost gave me a heart attack." He clutched at his chest. "I thought you were _really_ livin' fast for a married man.”

“Sorry. I get it _smuggled in_.” Peter smirked. “Being famous has its perks.”

“It’s Colorado,” White said. “It’s always been legal here.”

“Are you for real?” Peter whined. “Your universe rules.”

White made a disagreeing sound. “I’d trade the THC root beer for a luxury home any day.”

His double held out the vape and White blinked at it, unmoving. “C’mon, pal,” Peter urged. “I’m doin’ it for your constitution. What’s cooties between doppelgangers?”

“You don’t wanna hear Billy’s theory on it,” White replied, before accepting a hit.

\---

“... And maybe I didn't 'win' the Peace Prize," William said, "but it's an honor to be nominated, right? More daiquiri?” he offered after noticing Billy at the tail end of his.

“Dude, are you trying to knock me out?” he asked and William seemed perturbed. “I might have a couple pounds over you, but we are the same size.”

“Sorry,” William chuckled bashfully. “I’m not used to pouring for a guy who has my tolerance. It’s… kind of nice to have someone to relate to.”

“Yeah.” Billy swirled the remnants of the melting slush. “You know, I was kinda leery of you, but need to remember, we _are_ the same guy. Even if you have awards, and a fan club, and _depth perception_.”

“I bet it didn’t help that Venture got you all riled up,” William lamented. “But after the other multiverse incident, I can’t really blame him. He's been through so much the past few years — Can you _imagine_ being a single father with that kind of target on your back?”

"I'm assuming your world has more threats than, uh, men dressed like butterflies setting the lawn on fire."

“ _Butterflies?"_ William laughed. "You're funny."

“So why is _White_ so, uh... hostile with Dr Venture?”

“They had a falling out,” William said quicker than Billy expected. “The Doc’s got a ‘perfect life’, right? You know how Pete gets…”

“Maybe it's not as apparent in this dimension, but Rusty’s like a pit of unresolved childhood trauma. Even White understands fame like that comes with a price.” Billy examined the pool over his shoulder. “And I dunno, your lifestyle seems pretty 'perfect' to me.”

“It’s… got more to do with me,” William admitted and Billy turned to him with interest. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but… Peter thought I’d leave him. Like I’m some kind of star-fucker. We fought about it.”

The notion was absurd, but the pain in William’s eyes was real. “Wait, he thought you’d leave him for _Rusty?_ ”

“I mean, didn’t you idolize him as a kid too?” William asked. Billy nodded. “That plus the trust fund is all Peter thinks it takes. Not to talk crap about my own husband, but... I think he’s projecting.”

“If you're implying that he's in love with Rusty, let me put that to bed —”

“No, I think... _No_.” William fluttered his hand. “Sometimes when people fight we unfairly project upon the other person, right? It has no basis in reality.” His voice quickened. “It’s like we take the parts we hate about ourselves and assume the other has those same fears about themselves, then we fear that they might act on that fear —” William rambled, “it’s just a vicious cycle and we shouldn’t even entertain it.”

“I get that he's highly strangle-able, but you two are... good, right?” Billy asked cautiously. They appeared to be so happy an hour ago.

William exhaled, but then smiled. “Marriage is hard. Especially when you spend a lot of time apart. You need to have trust.” His shoulders slumped. “And I wish he’d trust me, but his career taught him that everyone’s looking for the next big gig. Or a richer husband.”

Billy gestured broadly at the estate. “Do you _need_ more money?”

“Are you kidding?” William said, exasperated. “I’m in super science for STEM, like the _entire_ acronym. I don’t need stupid TV paychecks to live comfortably, I have patents! Peter’s career could be gone tomorrow, and we’d have more than enough to live by our current means. But how do you explain to a paranoid guy that he’s more of a kept man than a provider?” He downed his drink and then slammed it on the table. “ _Hoo_ , you do _not_ know how good that felt to get out in the open. I’ve never been able to be that honest before.”

“Not even with Rusty?” Billy questioned, trying to get to the bottom of this distrust.

“Hell no,” William said. “We literally talk shop like two kids at a junior science convention, it’s the most shallow of relationships.”

“And ‘Peter’ knows this.”

“Being married to a guy for five years doesn’t change the fact that the skewed logic he operates under is his own. Maybe he's got baggage. Or maybe he rotted his brain watching every season of _Real Housewives_.” William stared at the mansion. “Only he knows.”

Billy sighed with a nod. If White was indecipherable even in marriage, he might always remain an enigma to his roommate.

\---

Peter pensively exhaled smoke. “You guys aren’t together in your dimension. So. Has he ever…” He cleared his throat. “Had a fling with Rusty?”

“No! Oh my god," White goggled, but composed himself once realizing his double was serious. “Did... Did _yours_?”

“I dunno.” Peter’s gaze fell to the floor. “He’s got... eyes for him. He’s been over there on late nights... Drank too much to make it home. Maybe I’m a jealous partner, but I…” He pushed his hair back. “I got cheated on in past relationships, and I’d be an idiot not to count the flags.”

“So your Billy... likes men.”

Peter looked up. “Well, yeah. Obviously.”

“OK, I guess _we’re_ pretty irresistible,” White said, and his double chortled. “No offense to Rust, but physically he doesn’t hold a candle to us. I mean, mine is admittedly worse for wear, but you and I could still pass for late thirties. Hell, you could pass for younger!”

Peter leaned in. “Pete — Can I call you Pete?”

“It’s our name,” White said flippantly, but the other didn’t match his levity.

“Cheating isn’t really about the outer wrappings, Pete. It’s about... someone givin’ them other things they’ve been craving.”

“So you don’t think this hypothetical affair would be a, like, sex thing,” White asked, uncomfortable about broaching the subject.

“Nah. Not at all,” Peter said blandly.

White twisted at a cufflink. “You two actually uh... sleep together?”

“Listen, work sends us off to separate cities a lot, but when we are together we make the most of it.” Peter shrugged. “Hell, maybe it’s good for us. I actually like it better when he’s been pining for a while — he gets all _demanding_ —”

White couldn’t hold back an “ _Ugh_.”

“Hey!” Peter lurched forward with a pointed finger. “Disrespect me all you want, but don’t you dare disrespect my husband,” he said with genuine ire. “I’m not giving _you_ lip, askin’ why your guy looks like he got in a fight with a garbage disposal.” White winced. “Yeah, I figured that might be a sore spot for ya.”

“Sorry,” White replied, shaken. “I’m a little fucked up right now talkin’ to myself from a parallel universe.”

“Join the damn club," Pete scoffed, anger subsiding. "Here, maybe if you have more of this you'll calm down."

White took another hit off the pen. “Maybe I just don’t get it — I’ve lived a totally different life with this guy.”

“Y'know, I hoped the one other person who would understand my marriage was you.” Peter narrowed his eyes at nothing. “Livin’ this life in a spotlight, the world speculates on the motives behind your relationship like love isn’t this... this _tar pit_ that two people get trapped in by surprise. I’m either his sugar daddy or I’m ridin’ on his coattails." He waved his hands emphatically. "I joke that I’m his trophy husband but, fuck me, who really cares what I am. Just let me live.”

White stared at him with his mouth agape. “I’m sorry. Really, I… I can be an ass.”

“It’s... It’s alright.” Peter leaned back in his seat. “If I went to some parallel universe where I was madly in love with Rusty Venture, I’d be just as confused as you.”

“Now that would be the bad timeline," White joked and Peter cracked a smile. “I might not be _married_ to Billy, but he's closest thing to family I have...” White said, never before using the ‘f’ word out loud. “And for what it’s worth, my guy’s got too much integrity to be unfaithful. Any dishonesty he picked up for survival, and even then…” White sighed. “He’s not like us. He’s better.”

“Yeah.” Peter tapped his fingers on the chair. “ _Yeah_. Fuck. Maybe it’s easier for me to blame the other guy so I don’t have to face my own faults.”

“That’s... mature of you,” White said, even more unnerved by his wealthy double’s humility.

“Well, I have to have a _semblance_ of maturity for a marriage to work.”

“Guess that’s why I’m single.”

Peter let out a soft scoff. “You’ll find someone. We’re way too hot to die alone.”

White forced a smile as he whispered a thanks, but didn’t believe it. Then another thought shoved its way into his front of his mind. One that had been sitting there far longer than he’d been in this dimension.

“Hey, uh. I probably wouldn’t... _ask_ another guy so upfront like this, ‘cause to be honest I think most folks find me kind of offensively tactless,” White said. Peter glanced up. “But since it’s us... When did you know you were gay?” he asked softly.

“I’m not _gay_ ,” Peter declared, confounding the other with his defensiveness. “I have a husband but that doesn’t stop me from liking women. I’m bisexual, pansexual, omnisexual, whatever you wanna call it.”

He wasn’t certain whether that was better or worse for his warring thoughts. “Then when did you figure out you liked men?”

“When... When he kissed me.” Peter almost seemed equally nervous about it. “We were watching the sunset. And I felt so scared and so invigorated, like I was hurtling into the stars.”

White gazed back in bewilderment. “It… _scared_ you?”

“Yeah,” Peter said and gave an awkward smile. “It… still does. It’s terrifying to love someone that much. It's like a loaded gun pressed to your heart.”

“So do you…” White bit his lip in thought. “Do you think you could feel that way about someone you’re not _in_ love with?”

“Like, platonically?” Peter paused for a moment. “I don’t see why not. But I can’t come up with any examples myself — except maybe me ‘n my husband before we, like, figured things out.” He cringed. “Sorry if that makes it more confusing.”

“It’s something to think about,” White admitted.

Peter looked him over. “Are you… questioning your sexuality?”

“No,” White blurted, despite knowing the speed of his answers always bit him in the ass. “I’m tryin’ to figure out where I end and you begin, I guess.”

“That’s fair,” Peter tossed his fringe. “But if you _are_ questioning, then, y’know.” He shrugged. “I’m kinda the expert on what it’s like for us to discover men later in life.”

“Ugh, I've been thinkin' too much about being 'later in life' these days."

“Oh, c'mon handsome," Peter said, "I thought we could pass for thirty as of five minutes ago?"

“It's not looks, it's... Some days I feel like I still don't know what I want in life. I don't even know what I want in a _woman_."

“Maybe you don't _want_ a woman," Peter suggested under his breath.

White rolled his eyes. “Alright, I'll play your so obviously biased game. What made _you_ realize he was different, and take that leap? What made you so… brave?”

Peter laughed again, something grim to it. “It wasn’t bravery. It was cowardice.”

And for some reason White found comfort in the fear.

\---

“Is it that time already?” William gasped as he checked his designer watch. “I usually have two full meals by now, but my stomach’s been in knots.”

Billy nodded, somehow more tense from the conversation they’d just had. He’d been getting used to the idea of him and his roommate falling in love in another life, but it also raised more questions about why sparks never struck for them. This strange universe of fame and fortune and outdated technology sounded like a world where the two could have had anybody, and yet they only wanted each other.

Thoughts he’d never entertained now nagged at him. Was he resentful of their own pairing because he felt like he had no choice? Outsiders had shoved him and White together, placing expectations over their heads, whispering accusations. Could that be why White always reacted like a cat in a bathtub, instead of letting it be water off a duck’s back?

Billy noticed William staring in worry, and laughed to break the tension. “Sorry. I think I left my brain in my home dimension," he joked. "I don’t know about you, but I can’t exist on booze and kale alone.”

“All the more reason to reconvene with the others. We've left them unattended too long and the house isn't child proof.”

“Child proof?"

“We've been over this; I am married to a toddler."

In the house they found both Pete Whites standing in the living room, demolishing a bag of veggie puffs.

“Hey there, fellas,” they said, full-mouthed and in unison.

“Ugh, they’ve developed a psychic link,” Billy said.

“They _are_ the same person.” William sniffed the air. “Were you two smoking pot?”

Peter shook his head, but White nodded. So much for the psychic link.

_“Narc,”_ Peter hissed.

“I didn’t know it wasn’t allowed,” White said to the room.

William crossed his arms. “My concern for my husband’s remaining brain cells aside, this isn’t the greatest time for either of you to be both drunk and high as shit.”

“I’m not high as shit…” Peter’s stomach growled. “Hey babe, what are you making for dinner?”

“Ugh.” William reached for his BlackBerry. “I’ll order pizza.”

“ _Billy,”_ his husband said, “we have very esteemed guests. It’d be rude to order in.”

“Would it? Or is it because pizza was all you ate while I was gone.”

Peter went wide eyed like they had caught him in a lie. “L-Listen, I—”

“I was joking about the toddler thing, but you really are a predictable child,” William said. “Fine. Filet mignon or pad thai?” There was a mix of requests, ending with Peter saying ‘both’. “ _I’m not a PF Chang's._ ”

“Then why did I marry you?” Peter snarked.

“I’ll help —” Billy interrupted before the couple flew into an argument. “If I don’t _they’re_ just going to whine.”

“Can you cook?” William asked.

“Of course. Not professionally, but—”

“ _But_ he’s never made me filet mignon,” White said. “Or pad thai.”

William turned to his spouse. “If I told your doppelganger to fuck off, would you take offense?”

“Not one bit,” Peter replied with a shrug.

“Hey you’re married —” White said back to his double. “If you're _not_ on my side, then I’m all alone.”

Billy smiled. “Maybe a third Pete White will come along and you’ll have someone to play with while the adults are talking.”

“Least it’d be a tiebreaker,” White grumbled and Peter patted him on the shoulder.

Billy accompanied his doppelganger into the stately kitchen and immediately felt intimidated by it.

William rolled up his sleeves and sighed. “You can tell I haven’t been here for a while.”

“Looks clean by my standards,” Billy said. “You should’ve seen our place, it was practically a biohazard.”

His double waved Billy aside and reached for something on the wall. “Stand back.”

Before a perplexed Billy could ask any more questions, the entire kitchen island made an odd resonating noise and began sinking into the floor.

“You are fucking kidding me,” Billy said. “Your kitchen _lowers?_ ”

“Superfluous, right?” William replied, with exasperation that surprised Billy further. “Peter _insisted_ because he didn’t want the party catering to have to stoop — _As if we have enough parties in Colorado to warrant it_ ,” he added loudly, but his husband was too busy showing off his video game collection.

“Half the reason why I never cook anything with meal prep is I can’t reach the counters,” Billy griped.

“Don’t I know it.”

“It’s easier now that I have mom to help me,” Billy said. “ _Oh_ , by the way, I didn't ask you about mom…”

William shook his head. “She’s passed.” Billy attempted to offer a condolence but was cut off. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“Sure.” Billy tried not to think of his own mother at home, likely worrying herself half to death over his and White’s absence.

“Anyway,” William continued, “I guess I shouldn’t complain about my kitchen. Cooking in Peter’s house is a _nightmare_. Like a full-body workout.”

“He has his _own_ house?” Billy said, jarred from his brooding by the mere concept. “How rich _are_ you guys?”

“Oh, he owned it before we reconnected and started dating.” William began piling cookware on the stove. “ _This_ is technically mine, even though he helped design it, as you can obviously see by the horrid decor. But his is in LA; he lives there when he’s working.”

Billy furrowed his brow. “Without you?”

“Depends on my schedule.” There was a hastiness that made Billy suspect there was more to the story. “Hey, you should tell me more about your world,” William said eagerly. “What was it like living in the desert?”

“A life full of broken AC units, sunburns, and dubious canned goods.” He peered at the expensive cuts of meat William had left on the counter. “Nothing you’d want to hear about.”

“It just sounds like a more _adventurous_ way to be poor.”

“I’m _so done_ with being a broke nobody.” He turned to William. “Throw me a bone, dude. Tell me what it’s like to be famous.”

The light faded from William’s eyes. “It’s not like you think.”

“Tell me anyway.” His double remained hesitant. “Please?”

William drew in a deep breath. “I’ll tell you about 1999. Then you’ll understand everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so I don't want people to like get too afraid of the "wandering eye" stuff, but I had to figure out something that Peter would still be wildly insecure about in his perfect life and the star-fucker projection felt on point. And William's never had the opportunity to become disillusioned with his idol, so of course he'd be a bit of a kiss-up. Don't dread that plot-line.
> 
> Next chapter is our first ~flashback~ and it's honestly a toe out of my usual comfort zone with writing, (hi, I'm aro-ace lol) so gee whiz I hope you like it.....
> 
> Thanks again for the nice words on the last chapter aaaaaaaaaa my brain is broke so thanks for the dopamine


	9. Rooms Full of Strangers, Some Call Me Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't follow me on my social media, I injured my wrist last week, so this is out later than I intended...
> 
> So, are you ready for a flashback? Do you want a smooshy gooshy mirrorverse flashback with a little sauce on the side? Because here it is. I apologize in advance.
> 
> CWs: Drinking, references to past drug use, dark humor, non explicit sexual content

**Universe 2, Malibu, July 1999**

Yet again, Dr. William Whalen was alone at the edge of a party.

On another occasion he would’ve bailed by now, but he hadn't _shown up_ to this event stag. He held an obligation to stay, wanting his plus-one to have a good time, while very aware she’d thank him for it later. A game show host once told him 'if you meet a gal like that, you better keep her close'. And so he did.

William wasn’t notably rich after using his teenage winnings to pay for college and buy his mother a house, and thus uncertain why a showcase model ever agreed to see him at all. Except for moments like these, when his mild amount of renown got her into exclusive events, where she could chat up that-one-guy-from-N'SYNC. No, not that one, the other guy.

Unlike other former child prodigies, he didn't suffer from debilitating shyness — his mother instilled so much esteem in him he sometimes worried it was all delusion. But these were Hollywood types, not a cocktail party at MENSA. The ache of being a misfit returned, like when he was twelve attending high school. Despite his name hand-written on the invite, William feared there'd been a mistake, that it was only a matter of time until someone escorted him off the premises. He’d yet to find out just who had organized this event, and for what purpose.

But again, here he was. Alone at a party.

While his date had thoroughly charmed yet another one of the rich and beautiful, William slowly ambled to the edge of the gathering, staring out at a multi-million dollar ocean view. As he watched the waves, he felt like a boat adrift on the horizon; _isolated_ , despite the lively chatter behind him.

His vision abruptly went black — and he realized those were hands over his eyes.

“Alright, smartass, guess who?” He recognized that New England accent.

William gasped. “Peter White?” He turned back as fast as he could.

There smiled the TV host, exactly the same as William remembered. Tall, dark, handsome, perfect head-to-toe in his trademark pastels and grey.

“Hey there, pally—”

Before Mr. White could rise to his full height, William hugged him around the neck. “White, oh my god!”

“Easy, killer!” He laughed as he attempted to keep his balance. “What — Did you miss me or somethin'?”

“Of course I did, you were like... my rock through all that crazy shit!” William said as he pulled away.

“Aw, the feeling is mutual.”

“What happened after the anniversary tournament? You totally fell off the planet! I thought you died or went to rehab or something?”

“What?” He scoffed in amusement. “ _Yeah right_. I'm indestructible, baby!”

William clutched at his head, more giddy with surprise than he had been in years. “I know it's hypocritical for a guy like me to ask, but... What are _you_ doing here?”

“This is my party, I live here!” White bragged.

“You — _You're_ the 'industry mogul' on the invite?” William laughed incredulously. “You _sly bastard._ ”

White radiated pride. “I couldn’t pass up the chance to surprise my favorite Quizboy. Or do you prefer Quiz _man_ now?”

“Mr. White, I see no shame in riding on the coattails of my youth.”

“Attaboy, you worked hard for that, you better own it.”

They beamed at each other, as if words couldn't match the joy of simply holding gazes, and William himself wasn't brave enough to go in for a second hug.

White finally broke the silence. “Hey, can I make you a drink —? I’ll take you to my VIP section.”

“It would honor me,” William coyly replied.

William wasn’t one charmed by celebrity, seeing plenty of masks come off behind the scenes, but he’d have dinner in a dumpster just to be close to Peter White. Even though the cross sections of their interests were minute, as years passed they'd both grown invested in each other as people. A rare find in a ladder-climbing industry.

The host led him up a winding modern staircase, to a mezzanine that overlooked both the outside and inside of Mr. White’s swanky 80s deco mansion. Sun beamed in despite the tint on the windows, and William pictured himself napping in its warmth like a cat.

As White dug around the bar, William could see down his friend's collar and sleeves, glimpsing a farmer's tan.

It was endearing to spy an imperfection in the man he'd always found intimidatingly handsome. He imagined the scenario in which it happened; Mr. White out in the midday sun, performing pool maintenance in a tight t-shirt. Though he probably paid someone to maintain his pool. _And why the tight shirt?_

William cleared his throat.

“You know, a guy of your means could have given me a call,” William said. “Just to let me know you were OK.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d pick up,” he said to William’s surprise. “I know you’re off doing interesting things… Maybe interesting _people_ too.” William again scoffed. “Hey, I saw the carousel of girls in your dressing room over the years.”

“It wasn’t like that,” William replied sheepishly, recalling the former classmates he used to take on awkward dates around the studio. “If it was, I wouldn’t have wanted to spend as much time with you as I did.”

White fixed him another drink from the built-in bar. “I’ve been followin' ya on the television, y’know. Don’t miss a single thing if I see your name in the guide.”

“You’re too kind.” William peered out the floor-to-ceiling windows where twenty or so celebrities mingled around the pool. “I… I always thought you were too famous for me, and you were just humoring me.”

“ _Humoring_ you?” White sounded appalled. “When I stayed with you that night you got alcohol poisoning on your birthday, you thought I was humoring you?”

William felt himself blushing at the half-remembered debacle. There may have been spoon-feeding involved. “I mean, I wanted to believe that we were friends, but I was just a nerd and you were like a real celebrity.”

“Oh, _pssh_ , not even. You were more famous than _me_ at that point, I was just a throw-away host. Hell, you’re probably more famous now.”

“Speaking of which…” They’d been fluttering around the subject. “What have you been up to?”

“This and that,” White said hurriedly. “I had some pilots that fell through. NDA work. I produced a couple albums. Everyone was kinda, _you know_ , about the hosting gig after the robot thing.”

William frowned. “It pisses me off that they tried to drag your name that way. Like, sure, I get how people might be skeptical of my victory, but it's not like I won by a landslide.” A long-suppressed rant bubbled inside him. “It’s not like you rigged it in my favor. And is it really that hard to believe that most times a human mind is faster than a database search?”

“Yeah, well, sometimes we gotta take one on the chin.”

“You're a better man than I,” William said, still irate over his friend's misfortune.

“What are you talkin' about — Compared to me you’re a perfect angel.”

“Mmn, let’s keep up that ruse for my mother’s sake,” he muttered close to his glass.

“Oh?” White smirked. “What kind of mischief have you been up to?”

“Well, for one she doesn’t know you got me _alcohol poisoned_.”

“I was pouring for a body twice your size, and I’m sorry.” White raised the vodka bottle. “I promise I did the math better this time around.”

Two women who William definitely recognized from a soap opera approached the bar with tipsy giggles. “Mr. White?” one said. “Can we use your sauna?”

“Knock yourselves out, ladies,” the host replied casually. “Hell knows I don't use it enough to justify the price tag.” He gave his companion a knowing laugh, like they shared an inside joke, but William couldn't decipher what.

The actress persisted. “Would you, uh, like to join?”

“I’ll pass,” he said with a wave. “I’m catchin' up with a long-lost friend.”

The women whispered among themselves. The other spoke. “He can come too—”

William turned red again. “Nope,” he blurted. If his head swam in White's fully clothed presence, then imagine —

“Stop tryin' to steal him from me,” White teased lightly. “I said we’re good up here.”

“Alright,” she shrugged, visibly perplexed. “Well, you know where to find us.”

“Yeah, it is my house after all.”

White snickered again and poured himself more wine as the mumbling women left.

“You didn’t have to take a rain check on my behalf,” William said awkwardly. But if the man could pass up such an offer, then what kind of golden life was he leading? Unless he was just that loyal.

Either way, Peter White was perfect.

“Oh William, _my Billy Quizboy_ , you really underestimate yourself,” White tutted. “You’re my guest of honor!”

“Thanks,” he whispered. He hated the juvenile name ‘Billy’, but it hit differently when spoken by his friend. It carried a fondness he found so comforting, like it _could_ be a home. Their glamorous surroundings came back into focus, and again he wondered why White would ignore it all for him. Pity, most likely. “So, do you hire a bunch of models to drink at your parties, or do they actually like you?” he ribbed.

"Ah, you caught me," White replied. "I paid those actresses to hit on me, so as I might impress you," he said, and then burst into more laughter once he realized William believed him. "No, I've never spoken to those women in my life, but somehow they know I have a sauna?"

“Maybe they're here to rob you,” William joked. “Seduce you, and then when you're at you most vulnerable: suffocate you!”

“I should've known some SoHo super villains would crash my party,” he said coolly. “I'm overdue for a real arch.”

“With ones that hot, I'd say you’re a lucky man, Mr. White.”

“Please, we’re peers; call me Pete, or at least drop the ‘mister’.”

“OK.” He swallowed, suddenly overwhelmed that maybe this was a deeper affinity, and all this time he’d been politely putting up walls. “Peter.” Baby steps.

Peter gave a satisfied chuckle. “Speakin' of women.... That model you showed up with, is she your girlfriend?”

“Nah, she's my plus one.” He wasn’t naïve enough to think they were exclusive.

“You want her to be your girlfriend?”

William sighed. “Not really. She's nice, but there's nothing there.” He struggled to hold even basic conversation with her. There was no worse feeling than opening your mouth and knowing you were boring the room.

“Well, there's a lot of single ladies here tonight. I could set you up with any of 'em, no foursome required.”

“That’s very kind but…” He stirred his vodka cherry. “I dunno any more.”

“What's wrong, pally?”

William looked at him tentatively. “You really wanna know?”

“Of course.” He rested his chin on his hand. “You're literally the only one here I give a real shit about.”

William took a drink, needing the extra courage despite feeling safe confiding in a friend. “I keep ticking things off this list in my head, thinking the more I get, the more fulfilled I'll feel. But I don't. Fame is really this... black hole that you constantly chuck money into, hoping it'll stop it up.”

Peter stared back. “ _Yeesh,_ you've been thinkin' about this a while.”

“Kind of,” he murmured wondering if he'd been too bleak.

“I figure it's all how you look at it. It's a trade-off, y'know?” Peter surveyed the room. “You never have to struggle but ya get kinda bored. You gotta go out and find that high — Luckily, we got the means to do so. You might not be the _live fast_ type, but I can see you makin' some questionable purchases, like a jet-ski, or... a zoo.”

“Maybe I don't actually know what I want,” William admitted.

“Alright, no jet-ski.” Peter joked. William said nothing, and the other matched his more sober energy. “Cheer up, Billy, you’re still a young son-of-a-gun. And you got plenty of cash to burn during your journey of self-discovery.”

Peter seemed to overestimate the funds the Quizboys alumni had to spare. Sure, his patent royalties kept him comfortable and free to pursue his passions, but another pile of money couldn't change his biggest dilemma.

“It's all pretty lonely,” William said.

“Hey, don't forget about me!” Peter slapped his palm on the bar. “I'm rich too. We can be unhappy together.”

William paused in revelation. “You’re... lonely?”

“Not now. Not that you’re here.”

William smiled, and Peter beamed back at him with that glow that always made him believe things would work out.

He had found his lifeboat.

Their conversation floated upon light small talk, Peter seeming too uncomfortable to divulge much about his life and preoccupations. If he too was insecure and unfulfilled, then William understood a famous man’s need to protect himself.

Peter drummed his manicured fingers on the bar in thought. His dark eyes then fixated on the man in front of him. “You wanna get outta here?” he asked.

William let out a surprised laugh, but Peter’s brow furrowed.

“Isn't this your party?” William parried incredulously.

“Yeah, but no one's really here for _me_ , they're here to be seen.”

“Ah, then…” William’s head swam and he couldn’t understand why he was so tongue-tied. “Where… Where are we going?”

“I dunno. A drive? Where we can speak our thoughts without the _gossip vultures_ circling?”

“Are you good to drive?”

“What decade are _you_ still living in, fella? It’s almost the millennium, I got the ride programmed in.”

“That exists?”

Peter flashed a cocky grin. “I know a guy.”

\---

They slipped out a back door, into Peter’s private garage that held only an Italian moped and a boxy mid-90s sports car.

As William climbed in the passenger seat, it amazed him that a vehicle with such a long hood still sported a backseat — though the minuscule amount of legroom and tinted windows made him suspect it had _other_ purposes.

The state-of-the-art automated system drove them down from the private hills, and then along a secluded coastal road. All the while the stereo serenaded them with synth-beats, slowed down into something slurred and hypnotic.

“This is interesting stuff,” William said as the next song played.

“Does that mean you hate it?”

“No, I think it's cool.”

“I call it Nyquil music,” Peter said. “Puts me in a nice trance; I feel like I’m not so antsy.”

“Wait, this isn't _your_ music, is it?” William accused, knowing he had a background in radio.

“No.” Peter smirked. “I just produced it.”

“I can't believe you’re playing your own music, you're such a tool.”

He shrugged. “You wanted to hear what I was up to.”

William laughed. “OK.” He eyed Peter. “Do you play this on dates too?” The host said nothing. “You do, don’t you? White, does everyone know you’re a huge dweeb, or is it just me?”

“I give you certain privileges. ‘Cause I think we’re the same.”

“Oh, we are _not_ the same,” William balked, albeit with a smile. “Not by a longshot, Mr. Malibu Mansion Television Sex Symbol.” He sighed. “But thank you for pretending we are.”

Peter made an amused yet distant sound. William remembered how his friend mentioned being unhappy, so he moved the subject away from fame.

“Is it just music these days, or do you have other hobbies?”

“Music’s the big one. It keeps me company, y’know? But they say art comes from suffering, so maybe it’s more of an outlet.”

“What’s been bothering you?” William gently inquired. Peter continued staring out the window. “You can tell me, I—”

“I know, and I appreciate it,” Peter said.

Again there was only music. “Is it… the career or...?”

“I feel adrift,” Peter murmured, watching the ocean. “Like a guy who woke up on a raft, and doesn’t know what happened or where he’s goin', or if he’s even gonna wash ashore.”

William felt much more stable in his career, though in the broader existential sense he could relate.

“And the robot thing was the catalyst?” William asked. Peter shrugged. “They really blamed that on you and not me, huh.”

“They were always suspicious of me. I gave ‘em good reason.”

“You always seemed honorable to me,” William said.

Peter gripped the steering wheel, like he had a grim thought, or maybe needed an illusion of control. The muscles in his tanned hands loosened, and he ran them down along the black leather. William watched them keenly, concerned for his friend but also admiring the long French-tipped fingers.

“Back in the '80s,” Peter eventually said, “the studio wanted to put a winning cap on the show instead of lettin' you guys lose fair and square, but I was the holdout.” William’s gaze returned to Peter’s face, but the other man still didn’t meet his eye. “I told them to think about it as an investment in the future — Like, it’s not gonna be a bad thing to send a bunch of brainiacs to the world’s best schools.” He sighed. “It’s just friggin' corporate money bein' wasted on cocaine and bonuses.”

“What’s suspicious about that?” Despite his friend's known affinity for recreational stimulants.

“They said I just craved the ratings. 'Cause I was fresh out of college and wanted to have my face on TV every night that you won another fifty-grand. And I said even if they fired me, I’d still want them to get rid of the winning cap, 'cause it was a good thing.” He smiled. “And I was right. When we did the college grad edition? It was like we gathered the nerd Avengers, _my god_.” William laughed and Peter finally looked at him. “Now that I think about it, you were the only one who didn’t come out of there a total asshole. You were fun.”

“They all _were_ kind of uppity, huh.”

“Remember that St Cloud?” Peter threw back his head. “ _Ugh!_ The worst.”

“He still tries to shake me down for the difference I beat him with,” William commiserated. “He had a fucking trust-fund and four tutors. He doesn’t need my money.”

“Do you still talk to any of 'em?”

“No, they’re dicks. Do you?”

“No, they’re dicks.”

William laughed. “I’m glad you and I got to reconnect as professionals. As... _friends._ ” It felt good to finally say it with confidence. “Even college felt so goddamn lonely because everyone saw me as that kid from TV, rather than like a person.”

“Well, you’re not the average person, y'know,” Peter said. “You’re one of my _favorite_ persons.”

He wasn’t used to being anyone’s favorite, save for his mom's, and maybe the more hardcore Quizboys fans. Emotion built in his throat and he cleared it, unable to say even a simple thanks. He didn't know what else would come out with it.

The car gently turned into a small empty parking lot on an outcropped vista. “Ah, we’re here,” Peter said cheerfully.

“Where's 'here'?” William said, unaware they had a clear destination.

Peter smirked. “You’ll see.”

\---

William stood near the low salt-beaten fence, the warm coastal breeze invigorating in his lungs. Nothing laid in his eyeline but open ocean, with distant sunbeams shimmering upon it like heavenly light.

He sensed Peter behind him but couldn’t break his gaze away. “This is incredible,” William said. “It’s so remote.”

“Yeah,” Peter replied softly. “If someone, say... pushed another guy off a cliff, who would know?” William spun back in abject fear, but Peter stared at him over pink sunglasses. “ _Holy shit,_ I was joking.”

“Fuck off, White, _oh my god_.” William clutched his chest and Peter ruffled his hair.

“Relax, pally. Stop thinkin' so much.”

“I will once I’m away from the ledge, because you had to go all American Psycho on me,” William said.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin it,” Peter said, laughing as he followed. Maybe it was a funny joke. Maybe William needed to stop being so high strung. But Peter could sometimes fail to read the room.

Peter perched on the hood of his car and gestured towards the sky. “Look at where we are, right here, right now. This is the only moment that matters.” He smiled at William again. “And who knows the next time we’ll have this. Together.”

He patted the space beside him, and William hesitantly clambered onto it, astounded that a man so obsessed with appearances would risk denting a sports car.

The waves crashed in a pleasant cacophony as they watched the clouds roll in; the hues changing and light ebbing in intensity. William couldn’t recall the last time when he just admired anything this simple. Especially _with_ someone.

“So tell me, Dr. Whalen,” Peter said. “Now that we’re looking at this glorious view, far away from Hollywood and celebrity and money… What’s the first thing on your mind?”

William took a breath. “For once I… I feel small and irrelevant in a peaceful way. I realize I’m not alone. I don’t have to keep trying to prove something.” He glanced over at his friend, the only person who could make him feel like he was the center of the universe. “People can really just want to be around me because they like me.”

“I’m sure that’s the case with most of ‘em. You’re funny, you’re smart, reliable… If you think there ain’t someone out there for you, I can assure you there is.”

“Looking for those people is exhausting,” William lamented. “I’m just... I’m so tired of kissing strangers. I keep wondering... How can I know which relationships are real when most of them are putting up with me for some payoff…”

Peter laid back on the car hood and appeared to stare up at the sky. “Yeah. I can relate.”

“Really?” William gawked down at him. “But, Christ, you're so h-handsome.”

“So what,” Peter said bitterly, brow knit over his sunglasses. “If you put my mug through a shredder, I’d still be me. Who would kiss me then?”

In a moment of uncharacteristic impulse, William answered. All other lips he’d previously kissed had been pillowy against his own, yet these thin ones felt right in how they sent tingles down to his toes. But he pulled away when he felt the other man tense up.

Peter’s sunglasses hid his gaze, but William’s worried face reflected in the rosy mirrored lenses.

“So that’s how it is,” Peter said softly.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don't be.” He sat up and kissed William again, deeper this time. Despite Peter’s calm demeanor, he couldn’t hide the tremble in his hands, which made the other melt into it more. Peter broke the kiss, but William followed, desperate for it to continue. Peter smirked. “Nice when it ain’t a stranger, huh?”

William flushed brighter than he had been. “Are you making fun of me for being into it?”

“Not at all.” He pushed William back down onto the car hood and gave him another kiss. “Actually, if you were anyone else I’d already have you in the back seat, but I got too much respect for ya.”

“I-I've never even _kissed a guy_ before—”

“Me neither.”

William blinked in surprise. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Peter flopped onto his back and returned his gaze to the sky. “Weird, huh?”

They watched a single passing cloud as the world became increasingly purple.

“Did you bring me up here for a reason?” William asked.

“Well. I _do_ bring chicks up here. I guess I just wanted to test a theory.”

William sat upright. “That this place is an aphrodisiac?”

“That I might’ve fallen for you.”

The sudden epiphany made him dizzy in the evening heat. “You... You planned the whole thing?” he inquired hesitantly.

“Depends on what you mean.” Peter seemed embarrassed. “I didn’t know I wanted to take you up here until right before I asked. I didn’t know I wanted to kiss you until you kissed me. But I threw this party hoping you’d show. Like in that dumb Redford movie, 'cept I don't wind up dead in a pool.”

“The Great Gatsby?” he answered impulsively.

“ _Ding_ ,” Peter said in a monotone.

William turned away in disbelief. This couldn’t be true — Peter was just trying to make him feel better, once again humoring a lonely and confused friend. “I appreciate the sentiment, but there’s no way in hell you threw an entire party just for me. Like, what if I flaked?”

“Then I’d have my answer,” Peter said quietly.

“But you didn’t even put your name on the invite—”

“I know. Because I…” There was pain in his voice. “I couldn’t handle the thought of you seeing my name and not comin' anyway. Just felt like the absolute worst rejection I could get.”

“This is… It’s a lot to take in.” William couldn’t let himself believe he was Peter White's 'Daisy Buchanan' just because he _wanted_ it to be true. “Excuse me for… for being confused.”

“You’re right. It makes no sense. But you have no idea where my head’s been at.” He sighed. “After the anniversary tournament, after we all went out for your 26th, I couldn’t get you off my mind. I really wanted to spend more time with you outside of work, but my schedule, it… I had to be in another part of the country or else lose my job.”

“So that wasn’t a lie. You weren’t blowing me off.”

“No.” Peter again sounded mournful. “I got stuck on you, in the way I get stuck on a hot model, but like... with the added _emotions_. Like we were war buddies or somethin'. I kinda pushed it from my mind, filled it with women. Then I saw you on that other TV show and I... I just watched it over and over like some kid with a crush on a celebrity.” He pinched his brow. “Sorry if this is all stupid or creepy, I—”

“It’s fine,” William said sheepishly, never experiencing a love confession before. If that’s what was happening. “I mean. We knew each other before we were anybody.”

There was a pause. “If you’re... If you wanna leave this as a weird kiss between friends, there’s no hard feelings there.”

William tensed. “Oh, I—”

“Because I — I don’t wanna lose anything. Not in a failure sense, it’s just — You’re…” He turned away. “Look, I’m not good with words for this stuff—”

“You don’t want to jeopardize everything we’ve built.”

Peter let out a puff of air. “See, _you’re_ the smart one.”

“If we’re being honest, I won’t be heartbroken if that kiss doesn’t leave this place, but…” He gazed at the man who had always disarmed him. “I know I’d spend every moment wondering what it all meant.”

Peter cracked a half smile. “You gotta get to the bottom of it, huh?”

“You can’t be a trivia champ without endless curiosity.”

Peter hummed in thought. “Do you put out on the first date?” The question startled William, and Peter laughed. “That was another bad joke. Listen, I tend to move fast, sometimes without names bein' exchanged, but it’s because I know if I didn’t I’d never get a second chance.”

William fidgeted awkwardly. “N-Not usually.”

“You don’t have to decide now. Like I said, I’m not gonna take you in the back seat. Unless... you’d like that—”

“No.”

“Yeah me neither.” His muscles finally relaxed. “No offense, but guy on guy still kinda squicks me out, that’s why I’m so messed up over this.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So we both agree this is bizarre?”

“One hundred percent.”

Peter exhaled and then laughed. “Well shit, that’s a weight off my shoulders.”

William smiled and could breathe easy again. Life was less scary when someone you cared about was just as lost as you.

“Hey,” Peter said, “remember when I took you out for sushi, and we were both terrified, but we ate it anyway? This feels kinda like that.”

“Well, now it’s my favorite,” William assured.

Peter tapped his heel against the bumper in rumination. “There’s a private beach club down the way. They do a mean tuna tataki. You wanna go 'n get smashed on sake?”

“Now?” William furrowed his brow. “But you have a party.”

“And like I said, none of those people are you.” He planted another kiss.

“I thought we were keeping the make-out up here.”

“Oh, we are,” Peter said, as nonchalant as ever, “I just needed to get one more out of my system before we go back to the real world.”

“Then let me get one more out of mine, you selfish bastard,” William teased before grabbing Peter by the blazer.

\---

Inside the club, Peter White’s celebrity persona switched on like a light, replacing whoever William had shared a tender moment with. He became a larger-than-life motor mouth, tossing money and flirting with the waitstaff vying for his attention. But William didn’t mind. In such a lonely town and industry, it relieved him to be back with an old friend. One that listened to him spill his guts, and occasionally got a glint in his eye, reminding William that today that gaze desired nothing but him.

Over an hour passed as they racked up expenses, Peter insisting on only the finest for his modest companion. William hadn’t had an outing this lux since his 26th birthday — the last time the star spared no expense on him.

“This has been fun,” William said as they returned to the car. “ _Whatever_ it is. One of the best nights of my life.” He shut the door. " _Actually,_ all the best nights of my life have been with you.”

Peter chuckled softly. “That’s sweet of you to say.” He typed his home address into the navigation device, and William got a knot in his stomach, as if the end were near. “By the way, if I get mobbed and disappear, don’t take it personally.”

Intuitions were right. But what could William say? Beg to become acquainted with the backseat, an act that equally terrified him? And he'd arrived with a date — It would be a chore to explain his absence to her. If she even noticed at all.

Regardless of whether William discovered an attraction to men today, one thing could be certain; no woman had ever treated him this way. Like he was a hot European socialite rather than some nerd mining the last remnants of his childhood fame. Of course he didn't want it to end.

“So is this… it?” William asked.

“I think you and I are… very different people. We have a lot in common, but we uh… conduct ourselves in opposite ways.” Extremely obvious by the sheer _digits_ on that restaurant bill. “You're not the first party fling _I've_ had, but you are my first gay experience, so congrats on that.”

William went pink. “This is a fling?”

The other man took pause. “I... Well... I guess it doesn’t _have_ to be.”

He wasn’t sure if Peter meant he didn’t intend on sleeping with him at all, or if he wanted to sleep with him _a lot_. And he became too flustered to ask, because he didn’t know what he _hoped_ it meant.

\---

Peter cautiously opened the side door, both men ready to sneak back into the party as if nothing had happened, but… no one was in sight. They peeked around corners, half wondering if everyone had moved outside, but ultimately found the only signs of life in the main room. The house laid _deserted_ , save for uniformed caterers packing up and a woman clearing trash off a coffee table.

“What, the party’s over?” Peter asked in confusion.

The woman sighed. “They all got invited to a bigger event.”

“Ah, there’s always a bigger event,” he said aside to his guest.

She glanced over her shoulder, her curls bouncing. “Hey White, are you alone?”

“Nope.”

“Then where’s —” She stopped and her eyes grew big. “ _Billy?_ I mean — Sorry, _Dr. Whalen_ —”

“You don’t need to show him respect,” Peter said with a smirk.

She shot Peter a glare and then gave William an apprehensive smile. “I thought you left when your girlfriend did.”

“Oh. Did she leave with someone?” he asked with resignation. And maybe a bit of relief.

The woman cringed. “Yeeeah, it was quite a while ago… I assumed y’all were leaving together…”

“That’s not a surprise.” William waved it off. “Uh... you’re White’s P.A., right? I never caught _your_ name.”

“Jamina. Yeah.” She appeared even more flustered. “I’m sorry I was a total robot at the anniversary show — I didn’t want to geek out and embarrass all three of us — Or make Mr. White to think I was, like, some stalker fan of the Quizboys franchise.” She nervously tossed her hair. “I watched your run religiously.”

“You don’t seem old enough for that,” William said, despite being no stranger to having his age questioned.

“Oh, I was like ten, but my parents only let me watch educational TV, and you were _much more_ interesting than puppets singing about algebra.”

“Yeah, she was staring holes in the back of your noggin,” Peter said. “I even asked her if I should give you her number.”

Jamina shook her head. “I prefer my own team, no offense… Speaking of…” Her stare fell upon Peter and she held up her BlackBerry. “You said you were taking a call from the studio.”

“Yeah.”

Her gaze flitted between them. “I’m sorry— I thought that was... our _code_.”

“Well, if I said anything else, you'd play 20 Questions.”

She eyed William with interest, hoping he’d have the answer, but he anxiously stared at the ground in response.

Peter flapped his hand. “If I ducked out with an old pal over the guests whose asses I’m supposed to be kissin’, it’d reflect badly on me.”

“No offense, but ducking out with a colleague isn’t worse than going off to fuck another 21-year-old.”

He bristled. “She looked way older than you — She said she was 24. She _drank_ like she was 24.”

“And did she fuck like she was 24?”

William stood perplexed by the sibling-like tone of what he’d once assumed was strictly professional relationship. It appeared he wasn't the only one Peter White let his guard down around.

“Hey, judgmental much?” Peter sneered. “I’ve known quite a few adult virgins in my day.” He gestured to William, who turned flush.

“I told you in confidence — and I’m not anymore.”

“It’s OK, it doesn't matter,” Jamina said. “Besides, White’s a lying dick, I didn't believe him in the first place.”

Peter calmly flipped her off and sauntered to the kitchen without a word.

William smirked at the woman, feeling more at ease. “You can curse out your boss?”

“If you can call him that. I can say anything to him because he’d die without me and my post-its,” Jamina said triumphantly. “I went to see my mom for a week, and when I came back he was like Howard Hughes.”

“Give me specifics.”

“You sure you want them, because I have _a tale_ —”

“Jammy,” Peter called. “It’s time for you to duck out, hun.”

“Alright, _sir,”_ she said sardonically. “Should I call a cab for Dr. Quizboy or can he just ride with me?”

“Uh.” Peter spun back around. “I uh…”

“I was planning to go to my hotel,” William said. “Probably with my ‘date’. But she took off, so…”

Jamina frowned again. “You deserved better. I’m sorry.”

“You could, uh, stay with me tonight?” Peter offered. “It’s an awful big house to be alone in.”

“He says right after he kicks me out,” Jamina razzed under her breath.

“You’re saying you don’t want to be alone?” William asked him.

Peter gave a soft laugh that was nearly bashful. “It’s up to you, you’re the one who came a long way. I can send you home in a cab later tonight.” His dark eyes tried to communicate psychically, a longing William had never witnessed before. “The party doesn’t have to end just 'cause the party ended.”

William already did the riskiest thing he could think of. Might as well do another.

“I… Yeah.” He swallowed the emotion. “I’d like that.”

Jamina smiled. “You two _are_ friends, huh?” she said, like they were puppies rather than men. “I thought White was exaggerating to impress me.”

“You see what a nerd she is?” Peter deflected. “If Tom Cruise is a star, then you are the sun.” And William tried to hide his blush behind a hearty laugh.

“Damn,” Jamina whispered, “I need to use that line on a girl.”

\---

A half hour had passed since Jamina and the catering staff left the old friends alone, and though they'd shared many kisses up there on that vista, nervous energy wedged its way between them. They sat in separate armchairs, sipping beers and making small talk like teenagers who didn’t know how to behave in front of their crush.

William watched as Peter adjusted his blazer for the umpteenth time. “Do you want to change into something more comfortable?” he asked.

Peter raised a brow. “Dr. Whalen, are you trying to get me naked?”

“No, I just...” He chuckled. “You seem very buttoned up. Maybe you can… unbutton something.” Peter laughed too, but it seemed stiff. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to flirt.”

“It’s not you. It’s me.” Peter slouched back in his seat. “Believe it or not, I didn’t exactly… prepare for this.”

“You don’t usually get laid after a party? _Please._ ”

“Have you ever hosted a house bash like this? It is _exhausting._ ” Peter frowned. “If you didn’t show, I was likely gonna get drunk in the bath, hoping Jamina wouldn’t find me drowned.”

William’s smile slipped away. “That’s dark.”

“Welcome to my 'gay panic', pally.”

“ _I’m_ not panicking,” William admitted. “I’m not… expecting anything from you either.”

Peter exhaled and scratched behind his ear — a notable habit of his, making William suspect he might have a hairpiece.

“You wanna stay over then?” he asked.

“Yeah,” William said softly. “I do.”

Peter set his empty bottle on the coffee table. “Why don’t we go into the bedroom then.”

“Oh. So we _are_ moving fast.”

Peter laughed, now with less tension. “Nah, I was thinkin' it’s cozier in there.” His house did feel more like a museum lobby than a home. “I got a decanter of booze, a nice sitting area.” He shrugged. “I’ll… unbutton, if that’s what you’re into.”

“We have to do that in private?”

He gave a weak smile. “I’d just feel more comfortable.” His eyes flashed to the tall windows.

William had accumulated a decent amount of fame, but nothing that could touch the ever popular Peter White’s. That level came at the cost of privacy, and for all he knew his friend had experience with paparazzi or even fans sneaking onto the estate.

But something else surrounded Peter’s sudden shyness, as if he’d stepped out of his confidence like a pair of work shoes.

He stood and signaled for William to follow. They made their way to a white-paneled wall, which Peter slid open like a screen door, revealing a dark room bathed in soft magenta light.

“Wow,” William whispered, feeling as though he walked into a small nightclub due to the neon glowing inlay.

Peter flipped another switch that illuminated more of the room from two bedside lamps. William spied a sky light and tropical potted plants scattered about. Every piece of decor coordinated in pink and white, save for the black satin sheets. Part of him wanted to crack a _Barbie Dreamhouse_ joke, but he had no idea how a man so nervously grappling with his sexuality might react.

“Welcome to the most exclusive VIP room,” Peter said.

“How many guests?” William asked. “Ten? Twenty?”

Peter furrowed his brow. “High-ballin’ there.”

“Five?” William said skeptically. “There’s _no way_ you’ve only scored five times here. It looks like the set of a Soft Cell video.”

“This is my inner sanctum,” Peter said and slipped off his jacket. “It’s not really for entertaining, it’s a… private place.”

To William's surprise, there wasn’t a single monument to the boastful man's achievements to be seen. Everything appeared wrapped in something personal. Nostalgia. And the sitting area only comprised a rosy velvet armchair and ottoman.

“Oh.” William blushed. “Well, you’re an excellent decorator. Even if it looks like it hasn’t updated since the start of the decade,” he added with a smirk. “You like pink, huh?”

“I dunno. Something about it relaxes me. Here, sit.” Peter ushered him towards the chair and William sat down. “Have some of my personal stash, if you like.” A crystal decanter of wine waited on the mirrored table. “Then again, it's potent, and you're on the, uh, _lighter side_. I… I don’t want you to be too impaired to form a rational opinion.”

“Opinion?”

“I mean. This isn’t about sex.” Peter’s body language became more tense. “If I need you smashed to be into me, that’s not what I want out of this.”

“As someone who is now 80% sober, let me say I am _into you_.”

“Yeah, you say that, and I know you mean it right now. But there’s more to it than that.” William eyed him inquisitively and Peter gave an awkward smile. “It won’t be long, don’t worry.”

“You’re freaking me out a little,” William said with an uneasy laugh.

“It’s because I’m freaked out, in general. I don’t… _do_ this,” he said, gesturing to the room. William nodded. “I’m gonna grab a quick shower and you can, uh... decide how you want the rest of tonight to go.”

William’s shoulders relaxed. “OK, that... sounds good.”

“It’s just…” Peter again scratched at his hairline. “I need you to know there’s somethin' that no one past college knows about me. Well, minus Jamina and an ex-girlfriend. I'm gonna come out here and look different than you expect.”

“I have no problem dating a bald guy,” William said without a beat.

A surprised laugh escaped Peter's lungs. “ _No._ I’m not bald. I have great hair.” He touched it again. “Sometimes.”

Puzzle pieces readjusted themselves in William's mind. “If you're transgender or something, that's not a deal-breaker for me.”

“No, I—”

“I never in a million years thought I’d be interested in men until... right now. Nothing superficial could change my mind, cause I like _you_.”

“It's not that, but... thanks.” Peter took pause. “Guess if I'm questioning myself like this, why not my gender while I'm at it?” He smiled, seeming more like himself. “Y’know, that’s why I got fond of you. You’re sweet, but not a kiss ass. It's like you... see past the noise. People don’t do that in my world.”

“It’s because… I want people to see me too. And you always did.”

Peter inhaled. “Well. Whatever happens, even if you get suddenly repulsed by me... let's always be friends, yeah?”

“Of course.” Before the kiss, that was truly the thing he needed most. “And I mean, even if you come out here and reveal a parasitic twin that dirty talks to me, I guess I’ll just count it as my first three-way,” William joked.

He laughed again. “ _Ugh,_ I didn’t realize you had such a nasty kink.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“ _Suuure._ ” Peter walked away.

“I was trying to make you feel better!” he called. Peter closed the door to the master bath, and the shower began running.

William caught his own reflection in a floor mirror and nervously fixed his stray hairs. The image staring back confused him. Peter White turned down a sauna threesome for _this?_ William didn’t think he looked particularly bad, having groomed and dressed for a Hollywood party — but there was a caliber to meet here.

He kicked off his shoes and went for his belt, but stopped himself. Did White enjoy removing partners’ belts? Certainly not a _men's_ belt. But was there much difference? It was uncomfortable to lie on, that was for sure. He whipped it off and untucked his shirt. After studying himself in the mirror again, mussing up his hair because maybe that looked better, he gave a noncommittal shrug.

Luckily William had coordinated his gartered socks with his nicer underthings, expecting potential action tonight, but with a woman he’d been with before. Not with _him_.

And he hadn't yet decided if he wanted to be that intimate with another man. Not further than a make-out session, and preferably one that wasn’t atop the hood of a car. But he would be supportive, to whoever returned to that very private bedroom. He wanted Peter to know that he was right to let him in, that these feelings weren’t conditional.

William poured a half-glass from the decanter and swallowed it like a shot. He then climbed onto Peter’s sleek bed with determination, and hoped that whatever the hell the celebrity saw in him would be properly alluring.

He was going to see this through.

\---

His heart skipped as Peter appeared in the doorway, looking ghostly in a white bathrobe that matched... everything else.

“OK.” Peter shrugged. “Well. This is the man behind the curtain.”

William let out his held breath. “So you spray tan, _big whoop_. Beats getting melanoma.”

“Very funny,” Peter said as he slowly approached, “but you notice the hair too?”

“Platinum blonde? That's very in right now.”

Peter sat on the bed and gazed down at him. “And the eyes?”

William held up his hand. “Wait, wait… Are you a _vampire?_ ” Peter laughed. “Is that why I find you so hot — It’s the _thrall?”_

“You're stupid.”

“Whatever it is, I'm into it.” Peter was impossibly handsome, in any variation of pigment.

And who cared what a guy looked like when he kept kissing you like _that._

Peter broke away and gave him a glance over. “You already took your belt off, huh? Got some ideas of where you want this to go?” he teased.

William’s stomach twisted in embarrassment. “No — I mean — I was getti—”

Peter kissed him again, and William stopped resisting and looking for explanations, or even letting himself have thoughts that weren't a hundred percent present. This touch didn't match what one would expect from a sex symbol. Hands that weren’t greedy, but hesitant, gentle, yearning for human contact. It made William bolder, spending all his years in that same position, knowing exactly how he wanted someone to make him feel.

The light dimmed, and the robe vanished along with other things, and it became difficult to keep track of what was happening and why, and impossible to care.

“How many birthdays did I miss since I last saw you?” Peter asked as they shifted positions, snapping William out of his trance.

“Four,” he answered.

Peter's brow furrowed. “So that's... You're...” He counted on fingers.

“That's thirty, Peter,” William said with bemusement before his smirk faded. “I'm... thirty,” he added with defeat.

“Cripes, I guess I really did need to stop sleeping with twenty-somethings.”

“Can we _not_ talk about mid-life crises?” he scolded the man beneath him, preferring that mouth to do other things. “It’s a major mood killer.”

“Oh, a mood killer, like you’re not still young.”

“But in the grand theory of things, none of us know how long we have.”

A silence hung over them, and Peter nodded slowly, like things had finally clicked.

“Then let’s live it up while we can.”

\---

In his years on the road — Hollywood, Boston, and elsewhere — William had awoken in many beds. Most were in guest rooms of colleagues, or hotels of the budget kind, as he tried to live frugally. He splurged on nicer suites for date nights, never knowing if they'd agree to join back in his room... But he hadn’t known a mattress like this, wrapped in silk sheets for the first time, and he’d never woken up with someone he was this optimistic about. This comfortable with. This loyal to.

The still slumbering Peter White looked even starker in the morning light without the neon casting him in fuchsia hues. Webs of purplish veins were now visible in his back. William traced a finger along them, as if trying to convince himself this wasn’t a dream. The other man made a soft hum, and William pulled away sheepishly.

Peter rolled over and blinked at him. “Ah crap, what happened last night?” he asked.

William jolted upward and tried to hide behind the sheet. “Oh. I’m so fucking sorry—”

Peter snorted. “ _Woah,_ it was a joke.” William heaved a sigh. “I say that to _all_ my one-night stands.” William again tensed. “ _I'm kidding._ I'm doing a bit.”

William stared down at him. “I think it's too early for bits.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” Peter laughed and gave William a repentant kiss on the cheek that made every muscle relax. “No one ever stays long enough for me to cook breakfast, even. One day you'll get used to ‘em.”

“You think?” William asked meekly, wondering if he read too much into it. Peter simply smiled. “None of my dates cooked _me_ breakfast.”

“Then aren't we lucky to have each other.” He paused. “By the way, you should really break up with your girlfriend.”

“I told you she's not my...” William trailed off in realization and Peter jumped out of bed with a laugh. “ _Oh._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was out of my wheelhouse, but my friend asked for it so I wrote it! (We all got really into the set design of "American Crime Story" last year and wanted to set a story in that opulent 1990s SoCal aesthetic without uhhhhhh bad things happening lol)
> 
> Not the only flashback you're gonna see in this, but I'm figuring out ways to insert them naturally into the overarching plot. Like I've said before, this fic was written in a weird disjointed way originally rather in a liner chapter format. 
> 
> Anyway I hoped you liked it lol it was a lot of fun to write. Back to normal programming next chapter........ and plot....


	10. Triple Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, another delay on my end since I had to finish more obligations and figure out exactly how I want to frame these chapters. It's slightly agonizing since I'm so indecisive ahaha. Also thanks for the kind words last chapter, I wasn't expecting it :')

After hearing the entire story, this union before them made sense. Two old friends who reconnected after years of loneliness, both willing to try something new just to be near someone who gave a damn. In this world there was no game show betrayal, no lies or stolen memories, stewing resentment between them. The betrothed never knew that cramped existence, trapped in a life of squalor and squabbles with nowhere to go because ‘what else did they have’? 

Everything turned upside down after Billy and White’s move to the big city, but not as they expected. The constant stimuli and bustle overwhelmed them and they relied on each other for a routine. A codependency that even now they couldn't break. Perhaps they were fated to be together in every universe. A familiar melody, the words changed.

The discomfort of the situation diminished as much as it could. Sure, the roommates remained stuck in another world, with no inkling how or why. But they could find the novelty in the mirrored company, in decadent booze and a heaping plate of steak pad thai.

“Wait, you two get arched by St Cloud?” William laughed as their dinner continued. 

“Yeah,” Billy said with resignation. “It's a nightmare.”

“It's borderline _offensive_ at times,” White added.

“But cathartic to be the one shoving my bully in a locker.”

White peered at the other pair. “Guys like you must attract a lotta villainous attention, unless we're _all_ fated to have that human piece of TP stuck to our shoe.”

“Thankfully not,” William said and mischievous look came over him. “ _Her_ name is Queen Etherea, and she is a stone cold fox.”

Peter shrugged. “We have fun.” 

“Oh yeah, she's a riot. We exchange holiday cards with her and her husband Gary every year.”

“I think she knows we're bi,” Peter said aside, as if surrounded by prying ears, “‘cause she wears this sheer little number that barely covers anything. Highly distracting, even for a married man.”

“They asked us to have a _foursome_ once, but we chickened out,” William added, clearly dying to tell someone.

“Because we don't swing,” Peter emphasized.

“Right, right, but still.” William sheepishly twirled more noodles.

“They sent us a real fancy gift basket on our anniversary though.”

“Fantastic wine. Great people,” William said, more businesslike. “You’d hardly know they were evil.”

“”Cept when Gary blew up our car.”

“He did blow up our car,” William conceded.

“Gary, that rings a bell,” White mumbled. “Do we know a Gary?”

“It’s a common name,” Billy said. “There’s probably like ten in the tower.”

“Well, anyhow,” White continued, “we _wanted_ a lady-villain to arch us, but they’re always workin’ for their boyfriends, or going after exes and shit.”

“That sounds a little sexist to generalize,” William replied.

“If I had any male exes, I’d arch them too,” his husband said coolly. “Men are historically trash.”

White nodded. “If you don’t appreciate your lady you deserve whatever you get, I won’t mince words.” He sipped his wine. “It’s hard out there. Can’t remember the last time I went on a date.”

Billy stared at him. “You really had me going there.”

“What, what’d I do?”

“I thought you were being all women’s lib, but of course you were making it about you.”

“I’m commiserating,” White defended. “Ain’t that worth somethin’?”

“We wouldn’t be single if we put ourselves out there,” Billy said. “And you’re a straight guy who’s TV hot, don’t act so oppressed,” he added under his breath.

“Oh yeah, but there’s just one gi-normo problem with that, remember? It’s called our _arrangement,_ livin’ a lie.”

“You’re not a hostage,” Billy parried. “You can move out whenever you want.”

“I’m the one at a huge disadvantage — You’ll always have a place to go, y’know? Someone to look after you.”

Billy’s fist hit the table. “Are you calling me a _dependent—_?”

“Hey, hey,” William waved his hands in a soothing motion, “There’s no need to fight.”

“I’m sure this can all be settled,” Peter added. “I mean, if we can talk without raising our voices, so can you two.”

“OK, granted,” White said, “but you two also do _other_ things we don’t do, y’know, or else you wouldn’t be married.”

William narrowed his eyes. “Being queer isn’t what gave us communication skills —”

“No, it’s not a dig — I just, I’ve been livin’ with this guy for two whole decades and we’ve figured—”

Peter dropped his fork and his husband’s jaw went slack.

“You’ve been together for _twenty years?_ ” William asked, like someone had knocked the wind out of him.

“A little over that,” Billy replied with a sigh.

Peter's eyes darted. “Even... snappin’ at each other like that?”

“It wasn’t like it was a choice,” White said, “it was more, uh, circumstantial.”

Peter’s brow furrowed and Billy returned to his half-truth story. “We fell on hard times after the show ended. Some secret agent a-holes made me their super villain honeypot, and I got my mind wiped and a robot hand as thanks.” He tried to swallow the bitter memory. “After all that, White looked after me.”

“We were tryin’ to crawl out of a hole together, but we were kinda… stuck.”

“We don’t dislike each other,” Billy added, “I guess we’re just… used to being together.”

“It would feel weird not to be,” White said.

“So then what’s your plan?” Peter asked cautiously. “Y’know, if one of you... meets someone else.”

Billy smirked at the absurdity of it. “We made a stupid pact.”

“Yeah. When we’re on the town, we always look out for each other.” White squared his shoulders. “Never leave a man behind,” he said with bravado. “A girl for you and a girl for me, otherwise no dice.”

“And that’s why we’ve never gotten dates,” Billy chuckled.

“Now we’re rackin’ up years, and everyone single stays the same age.”

Billy’s smile slipped away. “Does that mean we should cut our losses?”

White turned to him with confusion. “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?”

“I thought we were just… getting our feet back under us.”

“Ah.” White stiffened. “Y-Yeah. But we ain’t gettin’ any prettier.”

“Not to be biased,” Peter interrupted, “but you two are still attractive.”

“Yeah, I mean, when we were first dating _all this_ came off in the shower,” William said, gesturing to his husband. 

Billy stared at his double. “Even _with_ bias, can you honestly say I’m half as good looking as you?”

William rambled niceties in a flustered panic, but Peter leaned against the table with a scowl.

“You’re missin’ an eye, oh _boo hoo_ ,” he chided. “You could be missin’ the rest of your face and people would still love you. You know why? Because you’re charming, and you don’t have to bullshit any of it.” Peter smoothed his hair and regained his poise. “Besides, one eye makes you look sexy and mysterious, and I’m married to a four-eyed nerd.”

Billy sipped his Merlot as a matching blush crept across his face. White’s eyes flashed around the table, waiting for someone to react to his double’s outburst.

Finally William peered over his glasses. “Peter, did you just hit on my doppelganger?”

“No, babe, I prefer you,” Peter said lightly. “I wouldn’t waste my time chattin’ up a straight guy.”

He cracked a smile. “Oh, is that all?”

White quickly poured himself more wine. “Alright, alright, some of us are single.”

A buzzing sound startled them. William patted at his pockets and pulled out a BlackBerry.

“Really, William?” Peter said. “It's OK when you have _your phone_ at the table?”

“Sorry, I forgot it was even…” He answered it. “Hello? Oh — Um. Yes?” He bit his lip and held his hand over the speaker. “Pardon me, I have to take this.”

“Go ahead,” his husband said, and William scurried out of the room. “I do feel a lil bad interrupting his conference. It’s his bread and butter, y’know.”

“See that, Billy?” White said. “If you keep persevering, maybe someday people will take you seriously too.”

“I think that ship has sailed thanks to you,” Billy replied, forgetting he was in mixed company.

“Uh oh,” Peter said with his chin in hand. “What happened here?”

Billy glanced at his roommate, hesitant. “Did you tell him?”

“‘Bout what?” White evaded, knowing the answer.

“About how you’re the worst.”

“Gee, that’s broad,” he said flippantly.

“C’mon, what’d he do?” Peter’s eyes narrowed in on his double. It was obvious to Billy that White hadn’t spoken about the scandal.

“Let’s just say if you Google me it’s riches of embarrassment,” Billy said. 

“ _Google_ you?” Peter chuckled. “What euphemism is that?”

White held up a hand. “I’m just gonna ask point blank — Do you guys have internet?”

“Why would _we_ need the internet?” Peter scoffed. “Are you two military or somethin’?”

“You know what,” White said to Billy. “I would take the fame and fortune even if it meant mackin’ on dudes, but I don’t think I could go back to no internet.”

“Alright, Al Gore,” Peter said, “Explain this internet addiction to me.”

Before White could, William tiptoed back into the room. His fists were white knuckled, and even his face seemed paler.

“Sorry,” he said as he returned to his seat.

“What was that all about?” Peter asked.

“Oh. I... You know.” He took a gulp of his drink. “I’m always the first one who gets called when things go wrong.”

His husband gave him a playful poke. “That’s what you get for bein’ a professional know-it-all.”

“ _Eheh_ , crisis hotline, that’s me!” William said with a forced smile.

Billy kept his eye trained on William. He recognized all his own nervous tics, and his double had an even harder time hiding them. Something was wrong.

“Hey, Doc?” White said airily, and William’s shoulders went rigid. “What happened on the phone there?”

“What do you mean?” William asked. “It was just… science stuff.”

“Well, I’m sure your twin here would love to hear about this _super cool_ science stuff. Y'know, that you’ve had such a time pullin’ yourself from.” White nudged Billy. “Yeah?”

Billy should’ve known his roommate could read this guy too. The beading sweat and twitching mouth was almost enough to give him secondhand embarrassment. 

“What are you all up to?” Billy asked. “What couldn’t wait?”

“It’s just… Boring old… stuff.” William took another drink, and his husband was finally eyeing him with suspicion.

“Yeah, hun,” Peter said. “Who was that on the phone?”

“It was uh… Hamil—”

“It wasn’t Hamilton,” Peter said gravely.

“OK. Fine.” William drew in a breath. “I’m a crap liar, anyway. It was… Rusty.”

“Oh, of course it was _Rusty_ ,” Peter hissed. “And why the hell did that need to be a secret?”

William wouldn’t meet his eye. “Because he told me not to tell you.”

_“Me?”_

“ _All_ of you.” He let out a tense exhale. “He wanted my opinion on something. He wanted to give me a heads up on a… development.”

Billy held his own breath as they waited. But White had no patience. “Well? Spit it out.”

“Some…” William lifted his head nervously. “Someone else came through your portal.”

Peter looked at the others with apprehension. “That… That good or bad?” His husband remained silent.

“Guess it depends,” White answered. “Somebody we know? Somebody who knows somethin’?”

William again swallowed. “The Doc’s gonna call.” He poured another glass of wine to the brim.

\---

**Universe 1, VenTech Tower, 9pm**

Ice clinked as an untouched cocktail melted in Rusty’s hand. His stomach was too sour to drink, so the mere act of pouring himself a familiar concoction was a therapy itself. The skyline outside felt lifeless for the first time, like he was a goldfish trapped in a diorama, and the silence that surrounded him became oppressive, nearly accusatory.

He sensed movement behind him and spun back in anticipation. “Brock?”

H.E.L.P.eR. beeped.

_“Oh, it’s you,”_ he lamented, and the robot was insulted. “No, no, I’m just… waiting for word on something. _Business related,_ ” he added hastily, but H.E.L.P.eR. persisted. “Alright. I suppose I’m not used to an empty nest. To be honest, I didn’t think this day would come. It seemed like our reckless little boys would never make it to adulthood, but it feels like they’ve grown up too fast.” Rusty stared at his feet. “They’re... _thriving_ in a way I never did.”

H.E.L.P.eR. reassured him.

“I know. It’s just you and me again, H.E.L.P.eR.. A lonely boy and his robot.” He sighed and returned his gaze to the window. “That’s all I’ll ever be.” Rusty shook his head as H.E.L.P.eR. disagreed. “The compound was my _father’_ s legacy,” he retorted. “This tower, my great-grandfather’s... Hell, this company is my brother’s! Hank and Dean are the only things that were mine. Without them, what am I?”

H.E.L.P.eR. answered.

_“Rusty Venture —”_ He scoffed. “Maybe in another timeline he would’ve been worth something, but here he’s a joke, a toy line, a _depraved euphemism._ A disappointment… to everyone. Orpheus was right; who out there still cares about ‘Rusty Venture, Boy Adventurer’?”

H.E.L.P.eR. didn’t have to reply, because the man already knew. Who else came up to the penthouse for drinks, attended his lonely parties, or fruitlessly invited him over for ‘game night’? Now White and Billy were through the looking glass, in a perilous place he wouldn’t believe existed had he not been there himself.

“But maybe you had a point,” he yielded. “I shouldn’t be too hard on myself. I’m sure there are _plenty_ of fans of the Rusty Venture Show, old and new. Lucky for White, the 80s are back in style… Why can’t I make a comeback too?” He took a sip of the melted beverage and gagged. “Well, if you’re going to _hover_ , fix me a fresh one, would you? This one has congealed.”

\---

As Dr. Orpheus had warned, Rusty found it near impossible to sleep. He glanced at the smartphone on his bedside table, as if he’d find an unread message flashing. 

“No,” Rusty muttered to himself. “No, you’re not going to prove Orpheus right.” He took the phone and shoved it into the drawer. “It’s only a matter of time until the Ambien takes you away.”

Something made a loud click, then a muffled boom. 

Rusty raised his head and squinted into the darkness. “Brock?” he called. 

Only silence answered. Rusty stayed motionless, resorting to prey instinct as he waited for more recognizable noises in the now child-free household. Once nothing else resonated, he dropped his face back in the pillow.

_“Ambiennnn,”_ he whined. “I said take me away.”

An alarm rang out, sending him upright, and the lock-down procedure started.

“Oh, _not again_ — I thought we ‘exorcised’ you—” Rusty grabbed his glasses and watch, and clicked through to security. “Hatred? Come in?” There was only static. _“Really?”_ He flipped to another channel. “Brock!”

Brock appeared on the screen. “Did you do that?” he asked coolly.

“No, I didn’t. And I can’t get a line to the front desk.”

“Guy must’ve fallen asleep on the controls again.”

“Absolutely worthless,” he hissed to himself. “Brock, _would_ you?”

Brock let out a heavy sigh. “Just get to the panic room. It’s probably nothing, but I’ll see if Shore Leave is up for —”

“What is Shore Leave doing here? Are you having a slumber party on my dime?”

“Technically, I don’t work for you.” The camera wobbled like he was standing. “And I told him he can crash here between jobs.” 

“I’m sorry, let me rephrase that; _who_ pays for this building?”

“There’s like 50 floors, and you ain’t usin’ all of them.”

Rusty narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like that tone.”

“Well, this is the tone of a guy who has been a babysitter for God knows how many years,” Brock said as he moved through the hall, “and now that the boys are out of the house, I’d like a little ‘Brock time’ in the few seconds when I’m not savin’ your ass from the Guild and the OSI or whatever lady you pissed off now.”

“Well. You could be a little nicer—”

The bedroom door swung open, and Brock glared at him from it. “Get in the damn panic room.”

\---

Rusty tapped his fingers on the table as Brock sat across from him, eyes closed. It’d been a good twenty minutes since Brock had dragged him into it.

“Do you... think they’re coming for me?” Rusty asked.

“Who?”

“Whoever took Billy and White.”

Brock opened one eye. “Thought you said you accidentally went through a portal.”

“Well, yes, but that portal was technically _inside_ a super villain.”

“ _The Revenge Society._ Right,” Brock grumbled. “Last time I heard, most of their stupid lil club died in space.”

“Sure, but that’s what they said about my father too, didn’t they?”

The door opened, and Shore Leave strutted in sporting a nose splint and a black eye.

“Don’t worry,” he announced. “Mystery solved by yours truly. You had a mouse problem, and an _adorable_ one at that.”

Rusty blinked. “A _mouse_ set off—”

Rose Whalen appeared in the doorway, sheepish. “Sorry for the trouble,” she said with the air of a neighbor stopping by for sugar. “I must have tripped your little alarm.”

“Don't we have a guard for that?” Brock asked rhetorically.

“Uh, you did,” Shore Leave said, “but this little spit-fire knocked him out cold and almost took me down too.” He turned to her. “By the way, it's so good to finally meet you. En-chan- _tay!”_

Shore Leave kissed Rose’s hand, and she giggled. “William has made such a _charming_ group of friends.”

“I'd be more charming if I didn't get my nose broken last night,” he pouted.

“I think it makes you look dashingly rugged,” she said.

“You know it's too bad Quizboy is ‘spoken for’, because I would love to be your son-in-law —” He threw an arm around her — “Could you _imagine_ the fun we’d have?”

“Who knew my little baby would be such the hot ticket?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Shore Leave said, meeting eyes with Brock. “The bad boys love him.”

_“Oh my!”_

Rusty kneaded his temples. “It’s too early for your cheeky doublespeak. Three in the morning, actually, and I made the mistake of taking a controlled substance.” He peered over at Billy’s mother with heavy eyes. “Mrs. Whalen, _why_ would you take it upon yourself to break into my building?”

Rose frowned. “Well, frankly, I think you know the answer to that. No one ever called.”

“Alright, but there are other ways to get a message across,” Rusty said. “You could’ve left one with the front desk man instead of incapacitating him. You know, like a normal senior citizen.”

“Or like literally anyone else,” Brock added.

Shore Leave batted a hand. “It’s karma, babe.”

“You don’t understand,” Rose insisted, “they always call. They’re sweet boys.” Her lip suddenly wobbled. “Where _are_ my sweet boys?”

“We're tryin’ to find out,” Brock said.

“You can blame me, Mama Whalen,” Shore Leave declared. “Like I said, I was the host of their little escapade before they went 'poof' at midnight.”

“I wouldn’t fret though,” Rusty said, “they’re um…” His eyes darted. “Maybe they haven’t told you, but sometimes being a scientist in the company of a celebrity like myself attracts a little... attention.”

“Oh, I might know something about it,” Rose said evasively. “I won’t pry. A man must have some secrets he keeps from his mother,” she lifted her chin, “but if these villains keep him till tomorrow, the boys will miss church, and that simply will not do.”

Rusty smirked. “Are you saying White and Billy go to church?”

“Don’t you, dear?”

“I’m a scientist, so. No,” Rusty said flatly.

“I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me,” Rose mused. “Your father was never very Christian-like, you know, since he only ‘helped’ people when he could monetize it.”

“Ooh, she is lethal!” Shore Leave snickered. “This is Quiz-mom for sure.”

Rusty adjusted his glasses. “I’m not sure which of your housemates fed you those stories, but I guess they're not that off.” He pulled out his phone. “And I now see why they insisted Sundays off.” 

“What I wouldn’t give to hear White in the confessional,” Shore Leave said. “Can you imagine him actually being honest with himself?”

Rose looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing, my dear, he loves your son in a totally gay way.”

“I try not to be too old-fashioned, but I wish he’d just propose.”

Shore Leave’s eyes widened. “Oh, you _must_ keep me posted on that.”

Brock stood up. “Don’t mean to interrupt your fun, but one of us should get the nice lady home.”

Rusty yawned. “I’ll call a cab.” 

“Doc, New York is no place for an older woman to be alone at night.”

Shore Leave raised a brow. “Oh, she’ll be fine; I just saw David here take down Goliath.”

Rose appeared upset again. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my boy. I just need to know he’s safe.”

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” Brock said, “we have it on good authority that he’s alive, just, uh… inaccessible.” He looked to Rusty for confirmation, who just sighed. “We’ll get them back, scout’s honor. And Shore Leave will lend a hand, he’s great at tracking people.” 

“Yeah, now I’m invested. The world’s been so ‘peaceful’, _blegh_ , I need a challenge.” He turned to Rose. “How ‘bout I take you home and you can tell me some embarrassing stories, so I forget all about wanting to wring White’s scrawny neck.”

She put a hand to her chest. “Now why would you do a thing like that to such a darling?” 

“Oh, I’m just joshing with you,” Shore Leave said as he ushered her out the door. He then lowered his voice. “But sometimes I wonder if we know the same guy.”

\---

**Universe 2, White Residence, 9pm**

Judging from the shaky camera work, the feed came from Venture’s tele-com watch, but removed from his wrist. The four watched the big screen in breathless anticipation, stomachs squirming from nerves and maybe a good dose of motion sickness. 

“I found the guy skulking around in the basement, like he’d been living there,” Dr. Venture said over the broadcast. “And from the way he keeps hanging his head in shame, I think he’s responsible for this mess.” He paused for a moment with a pondering look, then grabbed something off screen. “I also found _this thing._ ”

He held up a box containing a tawny rat with a metal limb. White slapped his knee.

“Billy Junior, you son of a gun!” he exclaimed.

“I did _not_ sign off on that name,” Billy said to the others.

“So it came with you,” Dr. Venture said.

“Actually, we sent him through a teleporter,” White said, “but he never showed up on the other side.”

Dr. Venture examined the rat. “Interesting. And you say you _didn’t_ come through a teleporter.”

“We were walking to a cab, and we lost time,” Billy replied firmly.

“Time. Yes.” Dr. Venture cocked his head as if conflicted. “I suppose I should inform you… with this visitor, there was a time machine.”

A dead silence resonated across the room. William pushed his glasses closer to his face. _“What?”_

“Time travel is... possible?” White asked.

“It’s always been _possible_ ,” Dr. Venture patronized. “Though his device is… different from the theoretical machines I’ve heard of before — Such as the _Presidential Time Box_ they claim once existed.” William gripped his arm rest like he was reeling, and his husband clasped onto his other hand. “Here’s the thing I discussed with William on the phone: we never believed we’re _supposed_ to be able to, you know, travel back in time. Because that complicates the multiverse further. Fractures it. It’s an intruding presence, changing the world merely by existing in it.”

“So…” White took a breath. “So you think this person traveled back in time.”

“Yes. To change something. And perhaps...” Venture’s brow knit. “Perhaps whatever they change in one of our timelines causes the two to converge, like the universe patching itself together.”

“So maybe others fell through the gaps as well?” Peter asked.

“It’s hard to say.”

“Doc, I don’t mean to be demanding,” Billy started, “but who _did_ you find?”

There was a pause. "Brock, do you have him secured?” Dr. Venture asked off screen. “Yes. Well." He moved the camera to peer into the window of the panic room.

Though the figure immediately turned away, the man’s identity was unmistakable. From his bony frame to his pigment devoid hair; yet another Pete White.

His other doppelgangers stared in a stupor. William, too, said nothing, though he looked less shocked. By all deductions, Dr. Venture had briefed him on the ‘triplet’ during their phone call.

“So where’s his _‘me’?”_ Billy asked, trying not to show fear.

“We’ve yet to find one. He may have come alone.” The camera returned to Venture’s face. “We’ll learn soon enough. Brock’s readying the interrogation equipment.”

“W-Well don’t hurt him or nothin’,” White said.

“That really depends on his cooperation. For all we know, he’s a super villain trying to destroy the Multiverse, we can’t get precious.”

Peter ran a hand through his hair. “Am— Am I still high?”

His husband groaned in disapproval.

Dr. Venture began speaking but stopped short once another voice rang out. “I-I’ll be there in a moment, Dean,” he shouted, before turning back to the telecom. “I need to go now. I can’t let my sons find out about time travel and mirror dimensions, it’ll give them an existential crisis.”

“More than the cloning thing?” White asked.

Venture stared at him. “OK, we’ll _definitely_ have to unpack all that later. Goodbye.”

\---

Yet again the wordless energy in the room crackled, ringing in their ears as hearts pumped and jaws clenched, their minds racing with every conceivable scenario.

William was the first to panic. “I can’t deal with this kind of stress,” he blurted as he hopped to his feet. His husband looked alarmed and hovered out a hand. William fixated on Billy with wide eyes. “I don’t know how you do it. I don’t know how you take all these things in stride.”

Billy’s brow furrowed. “I have to. Maybe it’s a trauma response, but it’s like falling from a high place. You relax and do your best to land feet first.”

“Do you know this from _literal_ experience?” William asked in fear.

Billy slowly turned to White, who frowned. “If I thought you’d fall, I wouldn’t have done it,” White said casually.

“That’s the thing, White,” he replied with soft anger. “You don’t think about the consequences.”

Peter held up his hands. “C’mon, friends, let's not go after each other too.”

“Yeah, now we have a true interloper,” William said darkly. “If you should be angry at anyone, well...”

“ _Well,_ ” Peter grimaced, “let’s also give the guy the benefit of the doubt.”

“If he hadn’t come here alone, I might.” William crossed his arms. “He probably doesn’t have a ‘me’ in his life to put a stop to stunts like this.”

His husband glared. “Maybe in another life _you’re_ a fuck-up, eh?”

“Inconceivable.”

“Hey.” Now it was White’s turn to play referee. “If _we’re_ not allowed to argue, what gives _you_ the right?”

“It’s got a different energy with you,” Peter said.

“We have an excuse,” White said. “You two are married!”

William stared back. “Have you never heard the term ‘fighting like a married couple’?”

“OK. Enough.” Billy put up his hands. “We’re all stressed out, let’s just… shut up and prepare to fix the problem.”

“And how do we fix this?” Peter asked. “Please, tell me, I’m not a scientist.”

“Well, we now know a time machine is in play.”

“Do you think…” White scratched his brow. “You think the time traveler's one of _us_?”

“Obviously, we just saw him,” Peter said.

“No, I mean one of us in the room right now.”

“How is that possible?” Peter countered.

“Uh, because you could easily pull some shit any time in the future,” White said.

“Why me?” Peter balked. “Why not you?”

“Stop fighting,” William snapped. “It’s like nails on a chalkboard hearing two of you.” His BlackBerry rang again. “ _Ugh, what now?”_ he moaned before answering it, and listened to something short and concise in silence. “Yeah, fine. Whatever,” he said and hung up. 

The rest waited for him to say something as he pensively flipped the phone in his hand.

“Don’t make us drag it out of you again,” his husband threatened.

“Brock is bringing him here.”

“Him? The ‘me’?” Peter asked and William nodded. “Why is he bringin’ me _here?”_

“Because Rusty’s tired,” William said. “And he thinks the four of us will have an easier time getting info out of him than Brock beating him into a pulp.”

“Of course, leave it to Rusty to drop it on our doorstep.” Peter drew in his arms. “Ugh, now _I’m_ freakin’ out.”

White turned to his double. “Guess you should’ve invested in the panic room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about that multiverse, huh? Actually the real plot twist is I wrote a Rusty Venture POV which I never set out to do lol but I felt like his emotional constipation was complimentary
> 
> I got a lot on my plate, but this has been occupying a good part of my brain so thank you for encouraging my creativity and giving me the dopamine I need during these times <3


	11. The Man Who Sold The World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY TEAM VENTURE, UHHHHH, HOW WE FEELIN????
> 
> What a way to return from my mental sabbatical in the woods. Well here we are, and no matter what I'll be here writing for all of us. We'll get through this! Apologies in advance if this chapter gets a little too real, I wasn't expecting it to come on the heels of uh, well any of 2020 when I wrote it last year.
> 
> CWs: Drinking, smoking, hypothetical discussions of death or suicide, mental health issues, existentialism, body type comparisons, some sexual references

A knock on the door startled them.

“I’ll get it,” Peter said dutifully. “I feel it’s only right to greet myself, y’know.”

“What about me?” White asked.

“You should relax as much as you can. You two — er, _three_ now, got the short end here.”

William remained silent, visibly uncomfortable, and his husband combed a soothing hand through his hair as he passed.

The door latch clicked, and Brock’s voice echoed with a solemn “Hey.”

“Hey,” Peter greeted. “No Doc?”

“Nah,” Brock replied. “He’s diggin’ through every resource he has. Time travel’s got him all… _Well,_ you know how he gets.”

White’s curiosity got the best of him. Despite Billy’s tugs on his jacket, he tiptoed to the edge of the entryway to peek around the corner.

The third Pete emerged from behind Brock, and White’s pulse vaulted into his throat.

He had patchy facial hair, shorter messy locks as if trimmed in a hurry, and it appeared like he hadn’t slept in weeks. The sweatshirt had stains, possibly blood, as did his skinny jeans that ripped at the knee. And more than that, a long fresh scar snaked down the right side of his face, just missing his eye and upper lip.

“ _Cripes_ ,” Peter said. “Did you show up all battered or did Brock do this?” His new doppelganger said nothing. “You OK?”

“Are any of us OK?” the man croaked.

“Fair point.”

Brock stiffened. “Yeah, we uh... Interrogated him a lil. Nothin’ too drastic. It just took a few electric shocks. I figured someone like you would crack pretty fast.” The prisoner bowed his head.

“Lay off, man,” Peter sighed. “‘Cut me, I bleed’, and all that.”

“Alright, _Merchant of Venice Beach_ ,” Brock said. “Point taken.”

“Is that what it’s from?” Peter asked under his breath.

“Anyway, this guy went through the wringer _before_ we even got our hands on him.” Brock uncuffed him from his futuristic restraints, and the man rubbed at his wrists. “Sorry about that; we can’t be too careful.”

“I know, friend,” he replied, in a tone so forgiving it made his doppelganger queasy. More likely it was the cross-dimensional nausea again.

Brock gently guided his captive towards the main room. “Can we get this poor bastard a glass of water or a Gatorade, and a place to park it?” he asked.

“I’ve got two left,” White said, and Brock noticed his presence.

“Two? We gave you a whole box for the road!” he scoffed. “No, never mind — I believe it after our little trip to the men’s room.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” White griped, trying to brush off his unease about his new triplet.

The scarred man’s eyes fell on the pair of Billys and he gasped before staring at the ground.

“Living room OK?” Brock asked his tan cohort. “Or do you wanna keep him somewhere?”

Peter passed over a bottle of sports drink. “We’re all pals here. He’s welcome to the sofa.”

“C’mon, Mr. White,” Brock whispered. “Let’s go take a seat.” The imposing agent showed a tenderness that almost was _more_ troubling.

After sitting down, the prisoner took large gulps of the drink while staring off at nothing. Finally, his gaze landed upon the other dimensional intruders.

He offered a weak but sincere smile. “It’s... It’s real good to see you two.”

“Is it?” Billy asked as his White slid beside him. “Like, I can’t say the feeling’s mutual.”

The man let out a shaky exhale.

Brock nudged him. “You wanna tell ‘em what you told us? Why you’re all here and why you hid?”

“I dunno the exact science but…” A guilty look came over him. “I’m 99% sure I brought you here by accident.”

“If you don’t know the science, how can you be 99% of _anything?_ ” Billy inquired, with that sharpness White associated with his regular lecturing.

But the man laughed, like he was nostalgic. “You got a point there, doc.” He grew more serious. “Lemme me explain. When I got here, you two were on the ground unconscious. I thought maybe I’d killed you and…” He blinked hard. “I tried... I tried to leave, and go back and fix things, but I think somethin’ about our encounter in your universe might have fried my machine. But jeez, I’m so glad you're alright,” he said, smiling again.

“How do you fix it?” William asked, going straight to business. “The machine, I mean.”

“I don’t know. I-- I didn’t build it.”

There was a lengthy pause. “He stole it,” Brock said.

“Of course he did,” Billy moaned and eyed his roommate with indignation.

“Don’t you pin this on _me_ -me,” White muttered.

“Why the heck did you steal a time machine?” Peter asked. “Like, where do you even find somethin’ like that?”

“Did you come alone?” his husband added.

The traveler drew in a rattling breath and covered his face. Brock shifted his weight awkwardly.

Peter recoiled. “Did... something happen to Billy?”

“Th-That’s why I took it,” he said from behind his hands. “I’ve been trying to... go back and save him. I just... I miss him so much.” The traveler peeked out over his fingers. “I don’t know how to be without him.”

“What, are you going to steal one of him from another time?” White asked.

The two Billys tensed.

Peter shook his head ruminatively. “Yeah, like... No matter if you fix things, you couldn’t exist in that reality, right? That’s a whole new multiverse.”

“But it’s still part of _my_ universe…” the traveler said. “I lived it all leadin’ up to where I am now. All of you are... different. I dunno what kind of lives you’ve led.” His eyes scanned the mansion, as if disturbed by it. “But I know exactly what’s gonna play out in mine, until I step in and change it.”

William grew agitated. “I still don't understand how you could fix a timeline for your own gain,” he said. “You’d be operating outside your body — unless you, like... killed and replaced the ‘you’ from the past.”

The other Petes straightened up in alarm.

“No, I’d never,” the traveler said defensively. “ _You've_ never time traveled — It’s weird, OK? If you wind up in a different timeline then, yes, two of you can exist simultaneously... But if you've lived it already then you kinda just…” He moved his hands over each other, “ _Phase_ into your own body and pick up from there. I think the universe's natural paradox prevention.”

Billy frowned as he tried to make sense of it all. “But how would that work in a multiverse? If you could go back like nothing happened, that would eliminate the dimensional branches.”

“Time is abstract,” the traveler explained. “It’s experiential, and in your head, that’s why it flows different for everyone. When you’re not physically moving through spacetime, you can send your mind backwards.”

“That sounds like virtual immortality,” Peter said with interest.

The traveler frowned. “It can be, I guess. But if you’re sending yourself back to an experience you had, you’d basically be livin’ in a loop for eternity.” He looked down. “I… I don't have a clue how long I’ve been looping at this point, tryin’ to fix things.”

William’s glasses glinted. “If your way of time travel is limited to a loop, then how did you get to another timeline?”

“Oh, right… Most people think time moves only forward and back,” the traveler said, looking a bit annoyed at the interrogation he likely had already gone through. “Because of the multiverse you can also move side to side, like exits on a highway. _That_ is how you leave your dimension, and how I can be here, talking to you, without completely paradoxing ourselves into oblivion.”

“So…” White asked. “Why _are_ we here with you, then?”

The traveler exhaled. “That’s the million dollar question. I was traveling and somethin’... I dunno somethin’ went wrong, like…” He ran his hand through his shorn hair. _“Usually_ I can kinda skim by all these places, but this time the machine was like a broken shopping cart, drifting to one side. I was bein’ drawn _towards_ a dimension.” He studied the intruders. “Then I saw you two in front of me — and _bam_! There we all were on the lab floor. I tried to leave, but it just... The machine didn’t take me anywhere in time, only space, like… ten, twenty feet at a time. And then it didn't go anywhere at all.”

They all stared back in anticipation, and he swallowed hard as if holding something back.

“C’mon, guy,” White said, taking a cue from the softness of the interrogator. “I promise whatever else you gotta say, we won’t get mad.” It wasn’t _true_ , but his life literally depended on an answer.

“I think…” the traveler choked, “maybe I got unstuck in my own timeline somehow. I... I’m worried that... I don’t have a time to go back to.”

Brock winced and patted him on the shoulder. “Yeah that's… that’s heavy, man.” A chill went through White’s already trembling body.

“I’m sure it’s not the case,” William blurted. “I-- I mean, in the multiverse theory, anything is possible so…”

The traveler looked up. “Well, from what it sounds like, you didn’t know _time travel_ wasn’t just a theory.”

Billy took a sharp breath. “What exactly were you looking for? If you couldn’t fix your timeline, then why keep dimension hopping for another if you didn’t intend to replace yourself?”

“I thought for a while I could find a universe where you — Where _he's_ alone. Where he needed another me as much as I needed him. But even then, he wouldn't be my Billy.” He gave a halfhearted shrug. “We only get one. He's irreplaceable.”

Again everyone fell silent. Brock watched the new Pete with impatience.

“So,” Brock said, “you still haven’t actually explained what your screw up has to do with them. It sounds like they were just mindin’ their own business.” Brock gave them a look. “Guess my instincts about you two being harmless were right.”

The traveler blew through his lips. “Yeah. Listen. I dunno how you two got pushed through, or got out unscathed. Truly.” He turned to his pallid doppelganger. “Y’know you _could've_ got through because we’re both the same person, but Billy, I…” His stare became intense. “I dunno, maybe it saw you as some inanimate object I was passin’ through the portal with.”

“Well, _that_ makes me feel good about myself,” Billy muttered.

“No, no, I don’t see you that way,” he said quickly. “I’m guessin’ now it might’ve been your cybernetics.” He nodded. “Y-- You lost your hand a while back, yeah? It must’ve picked you up, like added machinery. We’re lucky it didn’t rip it clean off.”

Billy clutched at it in horror. “Not like it hasn’t happened before.”

“Pete,” William said soberly. All three looked at him, but he gazed at nothing. “What happened to me in your timeline?”

The lines in his face hardened. “St Cloud.”

Billy swore in disgust, but William turned to the traveler, waiting for him to continue.

“He... had this canister launcher, like non-lethal riot police shit. But it jammed and fired into construction scaffolding.” He swallowed. “The thing collapsed on top of us. I got out with just a broken arm and a scar, but... but Billy.” He covered his face and breathed out slowly. “Non-lethal, my ass. We’re so damn fragile.”

By now the others were rendered speechless. Brock’s eyes again searched the faces in the room, before clasping the bereft man’s shoulder.

“You gonna be alright?” Brock murmured.

“I’m traveling the Multiverse — I’m very _not_ alright,” he said calmly. “But if you’re asking if I’m gonna cry, don’t worry. I’ve got nothin’ left in the tank.”

William got to his feet, fists clenched yet again. “I think I need another drink.”

Billy nodded. “Pour me one while you’re at it.”

“Take it easy, you two,” Peter warned, “we already polished off a bottle of wine.” He turned to the traveler hesitantly. “You, uh... You want somethin’ buddy?”

“Whatever is strongest,” he said, eyes bleary.

Peter stood with a new aura of determination. “Here, let’s go into the kitchen. You hungry?” The traveler shrugged a shoulder. “Brock, how ‘bout you?”

“No drink for me, but I could eat.”

“The Billys cooked steak and pad thai, take your pick,” Peter said.

The traveler made a longing sound as he followed. “Wow. I miss his pad thai.”

“Well, White…” Billy said as the rest headed to the kitchen. “Another you. I guess you got your wish.”

“Yeah and now I feel sick to my stomach,” he groaned.

“Tell me about it, I’m... I’m _dead_.”

White frowned and gave a slow nod. “That’s…” He squeezed Billy’s shoulder. “I mean, I’m sure we’re dead in most timelines, the way we live—”

Billy shirked away. “Not helping.”

“Gotcha.”

\---

With every bite of his noodles, the new Pete White gazed at it like a man overcome with nostalgia, which he seemed to combat with a large swig from a vodka bottle. Brock scarfed down his own meal with a distant stare, either processing the implications of an multi-dimensional vagabond, or perhaps wary about meeting eyes with the various arrays of doppelgangers. No one could know for sure if he'd be the next to see himself through a fun-house mirror.

After handing off his plate, Brock pulled on his denim jacket. “I’m gonna fly back now, but I’m leaving H.E.L.P.eR. here.” He studied the traveler. “I figure if this guy is some kind of mastermind, a security bot would be all you need.”

“I dunno if that inspires the confidence you think it does,” White said, “‘cause we’d much rather have you stick around.”

H.E.L.P.eR. beeped in offense.

“Well, if you’re assuming this guy is bad news, then that makes him a liar. And in that case, the Ventures will need me even _more_ to protect them from anyone else crossing interdimensional lines.”

“I’m not a liar,” the traveler said weakly.

“Not sayin’ you are. If I was, you’d be chained up in a cell. I’m counting on you to be a good house guest — And you four; if any useful info comes up, you give me a ring. _Pronto._ ”

The door slammed, leaving the rest in an awkward stand off of sorts. No one knew what to say. No one wanted to make eye contact. Except for the traveler, whose gaze fixated on Billy.

“No offense, but why do you keep staring at _me?”_ Billy finally inquired after one too many accidental glances. “I mean, I know I’m a mess compared to _Doc Hollywood_ over here but—”

“No, I just…” He flashed a sad smile. “You're both him, but _you_ look like mine. Eyepatch, metal hand, whole thing.”

William blinked. “Excuse me, but am I an anomaly?” he said mostly to himself. “Do I get fucked up in every other timeline?”

“Was it the…” the traveler shrugged, “ _you know_ …”

“The dogs?” Billy asked.

“Yeah.”

“ _Yeah._ ”

“Dogs?” William shuddered. “I'm getting mauled by dogs?”

“Sorry,” the traveler, voice wavering as if apologizing to his dead friend.

“We can’t change the past,” Billy replied, clearly not wanting to open a can of worms. “I can’t hold that against you.”

The lenient attitude made something snap in his roommate's brain. White reared up like an animal ready for another fight. "That's funny, since you sure hold it against _me," he chided_.

" _White_ ,” Billy said in an undertone, “now's not the time."

“Yeah, well, I guess _you_ got _your_ wish,” White continued. “'Cause this one tried to change it, and look where that got us.”

“Leave him alone,” Billy scolded.

White was taken aback. “Why do _you_ care?”

“ _Look_ at him.”

The traveler shook his head. “I deserve it.”

Now Peter scowled. “Don’t say that — Now it’s even sadder.”

“It’s alright, honest.” The traveler looked at White. “I needed a wake up call. I’m just… grateful we’re all OK. I could’ve accidentally gone all _Galactus_ on us, and eaten entire worlds.”

William sighed. “Yeah. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re OK too.” He tapped his finger pensively on the armrest. “And um… in the unlikely event that you’re stranded here after we get these two home, my husband and I will be here to support you.”

“Thanks,” he whispered, and studied them with a knitted brow. “So you’re… You got _married_ in this verse, huh?”

“Five years,” William answered quietly, a bit of fear in his eyes.

“That’s nice,” the traveler said wistfully, but then peered at the other pair with concern. “And you two... aren’t a couple.”

“No,” White stated, and the traveler raised inquisitive brows.

Billy pursed his lips. “Were you two... _involved?_ ”

The traveler nodded slowly.

“Cripes,” White hissed.

“Excuse him,” the married Peter said. “He’s been a lil wiggy adjusting to multiverses and all.”

“You don’t have to defend him,” Billy said. “Because _I’ve_ been dealing with it just fine.”

The traveler turned to Billy. “Yeah but you’ve always been the mature one.”

“Alright, let’s all stop pickin’ on me,” White said, tired. “Kinda stings worse when it’s someone who should be on your side.”

“Yes, White, you’re so persecuted,” Billy said flatly into his drink.

“You know what? Sometimes I am,” he bit back. “Sometimes I am! Would it fuckin’ kill you to acknowledge it for once?”

The married couple again pleaded for them to calm down, and the traveler stood. “Mind if I go out and get some air?” H.E.L.P.eR. beeped in debate. “ _OK, buddy, OK_. Then just a quiet place I can crack a window?”

“I’ll show you,” William said helpfully, though his voice shook. “There’s one with a crank over the sink. You can see the moon rise over the mountains.”

The traveler smiled. “That sounds real nice.”

Billy watched as they left along with H.E.L.P.eR. Once they were out of earshot, he whipped back to White.

“Nice going, jackass,” Billy seethed. “You used the k-word.”

“K-word —? What the hell is — _Oh…_ ” He suddenly became small. A somber air overtook them, and no one spoke until William returned.

“How… How is he?” Peter asked.

“Fine. I mean, if that’s even possible.”

Billy fidgeted as the group waited. “I know H.E.L.P.eR.’s watching, but um… Do we leave this guy to his own devices?”

“What could he possibly do to us, except maybe burglarize my cabana bar,” William asked.

“Billy has a point,” White agreed. “This new guy… He’s. _Weird.”_

“Weird?" William's nose wrinkled as he mulled it over. "He seems chill enough, given the circumstances. Peter, back me up.”

“I get that we don’t know him,” Peter said to the visitors, “but we should give the guy some space. Like you said, H.E.L.P.eR.’s standin’ guard.”

“Someone should check on him,” White insisted. “Like, what if he flips out and H.E.L.P.eR. does his worst?”

Peter looked to his husband with anxiety.

“I don’t want to go back in there,” William said.

“Why?”

“I just… I had no idea what to say to him,” he replied, becoming manic. “I’m usually good at this stuff, but this makes a reactor meltdown seem like a breeze. The whole ‘being dead’ thing is freaking me out a little.”

Billy touched White’s shoulder. “You should go talk to him.”

“Me? But I’m the worst at this shit — You _just_ got on my case about it.”

“Well, one thing I know from experience is sometimes I don’t know how to reason with you,” Billy said. “If anyone can calm you down, it’s someone who’s lived in your head.”

White swallowed, before wordlessly walking to the kitchen.

He found the traveler in the darkened room, smoking a cigarette while looking pensively out the window.

“Hey…” White said and his haggard double glanced over his shoulder. H.E.L.P.eR. grew irate by the new presence. “Can I talk to him alone?” he asked the robot. H.E.L.P.eR. said nothing, but also didn’t move. “Look, this is a very intimate conversation, a guy talkin’ to himself. Please.”

H.E.L.P.eR. scanned the room as if searching for escape points. Satisfied, he beeped before rolling into the hall.

White turned back to the traveler. “I hope I’m not… buggin’ ya.”

He smiled sadly. “Nah.”

“I wanted to make sure you were OK, seein’ that we’re both strangers in this world.”

“It’s not my first time being in a dimension that isn’t my home.”

“We’re gonna get us _all_ home, alright?”

He replied with a soft scoff and then took a thoughtful drag. “That’s not really what’s botherin’ me.”

“Oh. Yeah, this… must be super fucked up for you,” White said. The traveler busied himself with the cigarette, and White mentally kicked himself. “ _Crap_ , there go my lousy social skills again. What I meant to say is I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I thought seeing him was bad, but seeing you not care about him—”

“What, ‘cause we have our spats? C’mon, I _do_ care about him. You should know better than anyone.”

The traveler tilted his head in thought. “Does _he_ know? Do you tell him? ‘Cause if you're me, we can be terrible at showing it.”

“I don’t need to say it.” Verbal affection was foreign and difficult for White, and Billy found talk to be cheap, anyway.

“Yeah.” He scratched his brow. “I was that guy once.”

White's sympathy wavered. “I’m not gonna miraculously realize I’m gay just because in infinite universes _two_ of me are.”

“Are you so far in the closet that you won't even admit he's your best friend?” the traveler asked, reminding White of every mocking voice. Except now it was his own.

“Alright, I said my peace and I’m out of here.” White took a few steps.

“Why is it such a point of pride to pretend like Rusty is a closer friend?”

White whipped around. “It’s fucking different, OK? What I have with Billy can't even be compared.”

“Because you love him,” the other said casually.

“Maybe platonically.” He hated putting things under a microscope. “Like… We’re…”

“Like _best friends?_ ” he teased before taking another drag.

White scowled again. “You can use whatever words you want. You can _jerk him off_ , whatever, but maybe I care about him more.”

His brow arched with sincere interest. “And why’s that?”

“Because you seem to be a chain-smoker —” White lifted his chin — “and I quit that decades ago, ‘cause the guy’s got allergies.”

The traveler exhaled. “That’s actually sweet.”

“And don’t act like screwing him makes you somehow better than me. ‘Cause guess what, I’ve never loved anyone I’ve slept with.”

“And that’s… _de-pressing._ ”

White rolled his eyes. “Y’know, I came over here to try 'n be a nice guy, but maybe I was only being nice because Billy asked me to be. Now I know this isn’t my house, but why don’t you smoke your cigarettes outside. For the boys’ sake.”

“Fine by me,” he said indifferently and walked up a set of stairs.

\---

White tromped back into the room wearing a sour expression, and everyone turned to him like a family waiting for a prognosis.

“Where’d he go?” William asked. “How is he?”

“Out? I don’t care.”

“ _Out?”_ Billy yelped and H.E.L.P.eR. started patrolling in a frenzy. “Brock told us to keep an eye on him!”

“He was bein’ a wise-ass. He kept insulting me.”

Billy made a sound of frustration. “Sure. _Sure_ he was.”

“Oh c’mon.”

“You’re so oversensitive!” Billy leapt to his feet. “What if he’s trying to scare you off? What if he’s suicidal or something?”

“I…” White eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Where—”

“Balcony, I think,” White said sheepishly.

“H.E.L.P.eR., stand down,” William ordered, and the bot stopped in his tracks. “We’ve got this.” He turned to Billy. “You should go this time.”

Without another thought, Billy ran up to the second floor and noticed a side door opened, leading to a balcony. He rushed outside, terrified of what he might find.

The other Pete faced away as he stared up at the sky, cigarette in hand that trailed smoke in the wind. Trees rustled in the distance, and despite Billy’s pounding heart — and burning sinuses — it felt remarkably peaceful. The man hummed a hymn-like song that gave Billy deja vu, but he couldn't place it.

Billy regained his voice. “Mr. White? Are…”

“Don’t worry,” the traveler said. “I'm not gonna jump.”

Billy leaned against the door frame as he collected himself. “What am I supposed to think if you get in a fight with yourself and run off.”

"Ah, it wasn't that bad." The traveler put out his cigarette on the rail. “Your Pete graciously reminded me that even in this verse you've got allergies. I didn’t wanna be a bad guest.”

“That’s thoughtful of you, but tell one of us next time.” He swallowed. “I was… really worried about you.”

The traveler smiled over his shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about me, fella. I’m not your responsibility anyhow.”

“How can I know that for sure? You’re in distress.” Billy wiped some perspiration from his brow. “Not twenty minutes ago you looked like a wreck.”

“I _am_ a wreck, I guess.” The traveler gazed at the forest again. “But I don't wanna _die_ or nothin’. Maybe I'm a coward but I also got people who need me. Like your…” He stopped himself. “I mean, like Mrs. Whalen. I couldn't do that to her.”

Silence hung as Billy debated whether it wise to get personal with someone going through so much. A lover from another universe. But his curiosity had officially been piqued. “Did you move in with my mom too?”

He turned again. “You two live with her?” the traveler asked. “In the West Village?” Billy nodded to both. “Strange,” he whispered.

“What's so strange about that?”

“Some things still parallel even though others don’t.” He closed his eyes as a gust hit him, rushing through the small fringe he had on his shorn head. Billy found his serenity fascinating. Then again, the man had downed an impressive amount of vodka. “We were thinkin’ about gettin’ our own place with more… uh… privacy. But I wanted him and his ma to have as much time as possible together after I screwed up most of his life.” The traveler sighed. “Sorry, I don’t mean to dump this heavy shit on you.”

“Who have you had to talk to about this?” Billy asked sympathetically.

He let out a mournful laugh. “Literally no one in the universe.”

“Keeping it inside isn’t healthy.”

“I know. But I should be talkin' to a third party.”

“I’m third enough, unless you think H.E.L.P.eR. is a better therapist.” Billy sat on the stairs that led up to the rooftop runway. “Neither of your doubles can be objective, and the other me is married to you. So.” He shrugged one shoulder.

Pete leaned his arm against the rail. “I’m just processing it all, day by day, minute by minute." He looked at the sky. "Rosie, she really does believe in an afterlife. She tells me over and over she's gonna see him and then I'll join them both some place. Like we'll be a perfect family in some paradise. It's a wicked profound comfort in theory, but I don't buy a bit of it.”

“Yeah, I… can’t say I blame you.” Billy glanced down at his mismatched hands. “If I ever believed after… an entire childhood being preached at, getting sent here shattered any faith I had in there being order to the universe.”

“I dunno,” the traveler said, and Billy looked up in interest. “It's hellish in a way, but here you are, just the way I remember you. And there’s more of you out there, real, tangible, some place in the ether. You'll always exist because time isn't a straight line. We'll always be happy somewhere.” His eyes flicked up nervously. “You and your 'me'… we’re happy, right?”

Billy averted his gaze. “I… I dunno. We're not _miserable_.”

“But in your… _relationship._ It's good? You're best friends, right?”

“Rusty's his best friend—”

“And you think we Peter Whites always mean what we say?” The traveler sat down on the step beside him. He wafted sweat and cigarettes, but nothing more pungent than what Billy was used to from his own roommate. The scent memory took him to another era, when White plunged into depression spirals and came back to the trailer smelling suspiciously of smoke. “Maybe I’m more sad for him than myself.”

“Why?”

“Because I had love once. And that’s his biggest fear.”

Billy cringed. “Yeah, I’m sorry he’s a homophobe.”

“That’s not what I meant. What he fears is—.”

“Billy!” White panted from the doorway and clutched at his chest. “There you are. You were takin’ so long, I — Then I went to the wrong balcony and you weren’t...” His eyes settled on his double. “This guy botherin’ you?”

“I'm the one bothering _him_ ,” Billy parried. He couldn’t understand White’s sudden hostility towards a grieving version of himself.

“He was just checkin’ on me,” the traveler said.

“Yeah, no need to be mean,” Billy glowered.

“Sorry.” White’s jaw tensed. “Just none of us know his deal yet.”

“I get it,” the traveler said.

White’s eyes darted between them. “You’re not smoking?”

“No, I thought his health was more important.”

White frowned. “Then come inside. I need H.E.L.P.eR. to keep tabs on you.”

“Alright.” The traveler smiled at Billy, full of warmth and reverence. “Thanks for the talk. I needed it.”

He got up with a stiff groan and squeezed his way past his double and into the house. White didn’t move, and instead stood with his arms crossed, staring intently at his roommate.

“What’d he say to you?” White asked softly.

“Nothing much. We talked about some existential shit, and mom, and then _more_ depressing shit.”

“He wasn’t…? He didn’t try…?”

“What? Try to kiss me?” Billy replied, not hiding his annoyance.

“ _No_. Not _that,_ I just mean the guy came off as kind of an instigator to me.”

“Have some empathy for ‘yourself’,” Billy grumbled as he stood. “He was just standing up here, humming some dirge, like, I think it was _Time to Say Goodbye_.”

“ _Woof._ ”

Billy threw his hands up. “Why are you such a dick?”

“I'm just tryin’ to _protect_ you,” White hissed. “I've seen you abducted too many times, I'm not gonna let the next culprit be me from another world.”

“OK, you’re a dick, but I know you wouldn't do _that_.”

“ _I_ wouldn't, sure, but we both know these guys have said and done things we’d never —” Billy frowned and walked away. “No, that wasn't a dig at _you_ , fella. I-It's—” He gently grabbed Billy’s shoulder. “There's a _ton_ of differences between us and them. You haven't even heard half the paranoid garbage ' _Mr. Long, Tall and Spray Tanned'_ was spewin’.”

“Sounds to me you're just as paranoid.”

White’s arms dropped to his side. “Alright, touche.”

Voices echoed from the main room and the two peered down at them from the inside loft. The couple and the vexed robot surrounded the traveler, as if attempting to corral him.

“Don’t scare us like that again,” Peter said with a nervous laugh.

“Sorry, I just needed to clear my head. I…” The traveler’s shoulders went rigid once more. “I keep gettin’ over… overwhelmed.”

Billy felt another pang of compassion for him.

“Hey,” Peter coaxed, “how about a hose down, eh? Maybe a shave?” He looked up at the two watching him and gestured for them to come down.

\---

The three Pete Whites retired to the guest bath, where Billy had partaken in the luxurious shower set up. It had been completely lost on him at the time, but he hoped the grieving man would find _some_ comfort in it. William stood to the side, anxiously playing with his shirt collar. His eyes fell upon Billy and a look of relief came over him.

“William,” his bespectacled double said.

“It’s Billy, remember?” he corrected. “Only old-timers call me William.”

“Right, sorry.” William smiled sheepishly. “I’m going to my room to change, if you’d like to join me?” Billy furrowed his brow in response. “I know you’re already borrowing pajamas, but maybe you’d want to pick out spare clothes as well.”

He remembered the superstition White had. “Are you suggesting I’ll be trapped here for a while?”

His double’s laugh sounded forced, as if pretending the notion was absurd. "I doubt it, now that we know how you _got here_. It's just, not to be rude, but seeing you in that church suit kind of drives me up the wall.”

“Church?” Billy examined it and determined it not nearly as hideous as the other things his mother dressed him in through the 70s. “This is kinda my go-to; I thought it makes me look professional.” And for once it was properly ironed.

“Well I _swear_ I owned the same thing when I was on Quizboys, which if you must know was my Sunday service outfit.”

Parts of Billy’s life were still missing from age and OSI tampering, and he couldn’t quite remember the origins of the suit itself. Perhaps he _had_ worn it for the game show.

Billy followed his better dressed self into another room that till now had been a mystery.

Inside laid a queen-sized bed, unmade and low to the ground. The room appeared sparse, almost too manicured to be lived in, but featured a massive walk-in closet filled with expensive looking clothes and accessories. He spied leather shoes, silk ties, an impressive display of cufflinks — yet curiously not a _trace_ of pink.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind having a fresh shirt to wear,” Billy mused. “I broke out in a cold sweat when the new White showed up.”

“Yeah.” William frowned. “Breaks my heart to see my husband hurting like that. Or. Uh.”

“I know what you mean,” Billy said. “My White’s annoyingly pitiful when he’s upset, but I actually feel bad for this guy. It sounds macabre, but... it’s kind of refreshing to see him sad on my behalf for once.”

William put out a hand. “Oh, _Billy,_ I’m sure that’s not the case —”

“I’ve met _rats_ with more magnanimity than him,” Billy interrupted. “Gender notwithstanding, he never gave _me_ a reason to think he has the emotional depth to be marriage material. For anyone.” He wasn’t sure why he felt so bitter about it. “Let’s just agree that our guys are _way_ different.”

“I don't think they can be that different when you consider you and I are the same.”

Billy stared back at his ‘perfect’ double. “You think we're the same?”

“For one, we're both dutifully concerned about the mental state of the new guy, while avoiding the weight of why he's upset. _Or_ how that makes us feel.”

Billy gave a reluctant smile. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Me neither,” he exhaled in relief.

“Here, come with me into the closet,” William said and Billy let out a slight laugh. “OK, yeah, that phrasing was ironic.”

\---

Though they were the same man, almost every outfit fit tighter on Billy, sometimes uncomfortably so. Perhaps White was onto something with the ‘chunky’ comment — Billy was finally eating three square meals again after crawling out of poverty, and William seemed to have _abs_.

“Oh, that is _much_ better,” William marveled at a seafoam blazer. “The other color made you look like a Bond villain, this is _way_ more approachable.”

“A villain?” Billy looked down at his metal hand. “Am I not approachable?”

“No! Um, you’re great!” he insisted. “I was making a joke — You’re more like a mysterious rich playboy or something.” William’s smile slipped away. “Are these micro-aggressions — Am I being a jerk?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I bet you just wanna be a normal guy, huh,” he said gently.

“Pretty much. But after everything I’ve been through, it’s impossible.”

“Maybe it’s apples and oranges, but I can’t go anywhere without being recognized.” William shrugged. “I can’t remember what ‘normal’ felt like.”

“I’ve never heard Rusty complain about having an ‘adoring’ public,” Billy joked. He examined the master bedroom. “You seem to have gotten everything we wanted, though. Fame, fortune, love... _accessible housing._ ”

“I bet we’re just at different points in our destined lives,” William said lightly. “Maybe we’ll always get the same thing. Course correction!”

Billy’s brow furrowed. “OK, but now we know we get crushed to death by a childhood bully.”

“Scratch that then, fate is a total myth.” William pulled off his undershirt, revealing impressive muscle tone, and turned away to swap it with a fresh one.

“Holy cow, you're beat up,” Billy hissed. Scrapes and scratches, both new and old, crosshatched William's back. “Is that from sparring?”

“Huh?” William noticed it in the mirror. “Oh. Uh.” He seemed reluctant. “That's definitely Peter's handiwork.”

“What?”

He turned pink. “Does yours not keep his nails long?”

“Well, yeah but he doesn't…" It hit him. _"Oh god_ , I'm sorry I asked.” Billy winced and then hung his head with guilt. “OK, that was juvenile of me—”

“No, it was awkward, I get it.” William hastily pulled his shirt on. “I don’t really get _topless_ in mixed company.”

“Dude, you should. You are toned as fuck.”

William bashfully batted a hand. “Gotta keep spry so Sheila doesn’t kick my ass every month.”

“I guess I’ve never considered the little details about what it’d be like to… like, actually be… intimate with White.” Not that he wanted to think that deeply. “But maybe I should take notes,” he joked.

His double looked over with baffled interest. “What do you mean?”

“Oh... I…” He’d been avoiding the subject, but now they'd officially crossed the TMI line. “Do you wanna hear something, like, _bizarre_ about my home life?”

“ _Please_ ,” William encouraged, “you have my full attention.”

“Uh. So you know how mom’s around in mine?” Billy asked, testing the waters on the previously banned subject. William nodded with intensity. “Well. I got... mixed up in some weird shit and she didn’t hear from me for a long while. Too long. But since White and I were living together... she figured my ‘big secret’ was that we were a couple.”

William’s jaw hung. “What? And… And you didn’t… _correct_ her?”

“How could I?” Billy asked. “And now that we’ve moved in with her, we keep up the lie so the truth doesn’t come out.”

His double took pause, and his eyes glistened. “You’re saying… mom’s OK with us being gay?”

“Listen... You know her,” Billy said, feeling remorse about avoiding her for so long. “Whatever makes me happy, right? And I think she’s glad someone out there loves me as much as she does…” He sighed in defeat. “Well… Technically no one does, but again, the lie is there for her.”

William took a cautious step towards him, before hurriedly pulling Billy into a strong hug.

“I…” Billy forced himself to relax into it. “This is... awkward.”

“I know.” The hug tightened. “But I know what it’s like being us. I don’t want you to give up.”

The sentiment caught him off guard once more. “I won’t. I’m... happy.”

“You are?” William asked as he pulled away.

“Yeah, I... I mean... I have a weird life that isn’t always fun, but... I really do love the family I cobbled together. The good evens out the bad.” He blinked. “I think.”

His double studied him. “Dog fight, huh?”

Billy would spare the gritty details, but could say one thing for sure. “I would’ve been dead if it weren’t for White.”

William smiled. “I bet that makes mom love him even more.” His face twitched like he was holding back emotions and he cleared his throat. They looked over at the folded clothes. “These are the ones you like?”

“Yeah. I hope that’s OK.”

“Here.” William stacked them and then handed them to his doppelganger. “Keep them.”

“What,” Billy gasped. “Like to take home?”

“Yeah. I dunno if we can take things in and out of the verse, but it seems outfits and accessories travel alright.” He clasped Billy's shoulder. “You deserve more than thrifted church clothes.”

“I-I have means,” he said defensively.

“But do you have custom made _Dolce & Gabbana_ means?”

Billy brought the pile to his chest. “You’re a good man, William White.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't tag this as "major character death" because it's a multiverse situation and the characters we know are alive and well. And it's a Schrodinger's cat thing, like, ~technically~ the traveler's Billy is alive, but if he replays the loop he's not. But if anyone thinks I should tick the box up there, let me know and I'll mull it over harder.
> 
> I swear there's some levity coming up at some point, again I didn't write this thinking the world would be on fire. But I think it's a hopeful story! That's what this show does, it's about pushing through it all.
> 
> So, to the elephant in the room... maybe I'm preaching to the choir here, but all is not lost. Our show could live on. Keep streaming it legally, keep posting in the hashtag, send letters to streaming sites to pick it up. Sounds like everyone involved wants the show to live. Lets all hold hands or something, I dunno -- No wait, wash them first.
> 
> Worst case, I'll be here writing out every little theory and plotline I've had stewing in my head during my 16 years as a fan. Thank you to this fandom for being encouraging to me, I really appreciate all of it.


	12. Like a Record, Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I will be taking a mini-hiatus after this chapter, since I have work to do and this feels like a good ~resting~ point for a bit. Likely not TOO long, but more time than my two updates a month or what have you. Secondly, keep an eye on either my tumblr or twitter because I'll have a little playlist + liner notes for you of the music that inspired this work. And lastly, I'm very excited for you to read this chapter because it was maybe the second thing I drafted for this project... so a long time coming! Hope you like it.
> 
> CW: mentions of death / injury and substance abuse, sexual references, crude language.

**Universe 3, The Subway, ????**

“I dunno why people are so surprised by Asian countries having loan words from the Romance languages.” Billy opened a package of melonpan from his bodega spoils. “The colonizing bastards were obsessed with Pacific trade routes. If someone shows you a food you’ve never seen before and tells you the name, you’re going to take their word for it.” He stuffed it into his mouth. “Like what, I’m gonna say ‘no, that’s not a taquito, I’m calling that a _meat cigar’?_ _Ew._ ” He glanced over at his fiancee and snapped his fingers. “Pete, where _are_ you?”

Pete jolted to attention. “Huh?”

Billy swallowed the pastry. “Since the minute we woke up, you look like someone killed your hamster in front of you.”

“ _Jesus Christ_ , Billy, don’t say that,” he wheezed like he'd been gut-punched.

“Dude, what is _with_ you? You’ve been weird all week.” Billy furrowed his brow as he clutched Pete’s knee. “Is there something you’re not telling me? Do you wanna back out, because it’s OK, I don’t _need_ a wedd—”

“It’s not that. Trust me.” Pete took a breath. “I just, I’m having nightmares, that’s all. I dunno why, but I am.”

He knew why. This was the longest time he’d kept Billy alive.

Four days ago, Pete had made the most minor of choices. He’d waited a few minutes before walking up the subway stairs instead of avoiding them all together, so that distracted businessman didn’t knock poor Billy to his doom. And now things coasted on by. The hazards were few and comically obvious, and he easily maneuvered Billy out of the way, like a twisted cartoon where one remained blissfully ignorant of any danger.

But he couldn’t become complacent. He wanted to be ‘Pete’ for as long as he could stand it, before frustration set in and he traveled other timelines, in search of reprieve from this looping Hell of dread and untimely death.

It wasn’t fair to him. And it wasn’t fair to Billy, who was starting to notice the change in his formerly _devil-may-care_ fiancee.

Billy inhaled pensively. “Lately, when you look at me… Sometimes it feels like you pity me.”

The subway car screeched to its stop as Pete stared back, wide-eyed.

“That’s not it at all,” Pete whispered, though the guilt killed him inside. He forced a smile. “I just gotta get a solid night’s sleep, then I’ll be your fella again, good as new.”

Billy got to his feet. “Well, maybe we need to futz with your medications. Maybe we’ll just have to tire you out.”

“Sure, sure,” Pete said, too distracted by scanning the disembarking crowd for danger. “Subways are pretty damn unsafe, don’t you think?”

“I dunno. I’d have to look up statistics.” Billy raised his brows in realization. “If you’re worried you jinxed things by proposing, please don’t even entertain something that fucking stupid.”

Pete sighed. “Yeah, maybe that’s it.” He turned to Billy. “But just take my hand for now. So I know I’m not gonna lose you in the shuffle.”

Billy cracked a tired smile. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” But all Pete had to do was blink at the wrong time.

“I love you,” he said soberly, stomach in knots like they were preparing for war.

“I love you too,” Billy said, and Pete pulled him along through the door. “I’m not going to fall through the gap, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“Billy, stop it.”

“I’m not gonna trip and get electrocuted on the rails,” Billy teased.

“You’re such a little shit,” Pete hissed.

“But you _looove_ me,” he sang.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

\---

**Universe 2, Guest Bathroom, Present**

“Alright, friend,” Peter said as he ran the water. “This should make you feel worlds better.”

The traveler studied him skeptically. “You sure about that?”

“This shower rules,” White agreed. “I swear, if you’re me, you’ve never known a thing like it.”

“And also,” Peter added, “uh, being upset _and_ unhygienic is the pits.”

The traveler raised a brow. “What are you tryin’ to say?”

“I, uh—”

“You’re no spring flower, no offense,” White said bluntly.

Peter looked mortified, but the traveler chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, Brock told me the same thing.” He pulled his arms out of the stained sweatshirt sleeves. “But uh, you’re not gonna stay in here the whole time, are you?”

“Maybe not on a good day,” Peter said, “but you guzzled half my hubby's vodka reserve. We don’t want you to slip and bash your head in, there.”

“Don’t be shy,” White said, “ _I_ had Brock yank these down to my knees, like I could hide anything in them anyway.” He snapped the fabric of his leggings. “At least the three of us are, uh, familiar with what we got to work with.”

The traveler shrugged and gingerly pulled his clothes off over his head.

_“Holy crap!”_ Peter recoiled as his triplet revealed bruised ribs and hastily sealed wounds.

White scowled. “Don’t tell me Brock carved you up like that.”

“He was practically a kitten,” the traveler said, “‘cept for the shock therapy part. These are from my… misadventures in the Multiverse.”

Peter fixed his gaze on the floor, as if squeamish. “Do your… injuries carry over when you time travel too?”

“Nah, I’d made one last ditch effort. He survived for days this time, and… well, it snuck up on us." The man noticed his reflection in the fogging mirror. "Still wind up with this stupid scar most times.” He ran a finger along it. “A constant like this made me realize what a lost cause it all was.”

“Man, I’m real sorry,” White groaned. Peter, on the other hand, said nothing as he wrapped his arms close to his body. It was as if a chill had entered the balmy room, one that also shot down White's spine. “We’ll get these all cleaned up and you’ll feel better. This guy over here, he’s a great host.”

“Well, I can’t say _you_ haven’t been gracious,” the traveler said to Peter.

White sighed. “And I’m sorry if I was out of line earlier,” he continued.

The traveler shrugged. “We’re all stressed.”

White reached out to pat the traveler on the bare shoulder — But when skin neared skin, a charge snapped through the air.

“Shit!” the three yelped at once.

The traveler looked around with wild eyes as his hair stood on end like static, while the other two bolted to opposite ends of the bathroom.

“Holy mackerel!” Peter now stood on the toilet. “Are you electrified or somethin’? Should we keep you _away_ from water?”

“Can we not touch each other in a multiverse?” the traveler asked hoarsely. “I never tried!”

“The four of us seemed OK before,” Peter replied.

“Oh wait,” White said, flattened up against the wall. “Billy got zapped.”

Peter turned to him. “No he didn’t, I was there!”

“No, not here — Back home. We were testing that teleporter, and it electrocuted him for no reason.”

“Teleporter?” the traveler murmured, still keeping his own distance. “You didn’t _destroy it_ yet?”

“How do you know about that?” White asked.

“I’m you!”

“No, we couldn’t,” White answered. “Not before the Guild yoinked the tech right outta our hands.”

“ _Fuck me_. That could destabilize your whole damn world.” The scarred man stared him down. “You’re sure you wanna go back to that? I mean, in my travels I’ve seen what teleportation does to a society. Entire armies moved between continents in mere seconds. Locked door assassinations. Mass hysteria.”

Peter gawked back at White. “I knew your world sounded screwed up.”

“It’ll be fine,” White snipped. “I think. But let's stop dwellin’ on hypotheticals.” He gestured to the shower. “I won't touch you with bare hands, just so we don’t conduct electricity. Or paradox ourselves to death.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Peter agreed.

The traveler cautiously sat on the sink counter to peel off his jeans. “You’re lucky I wanna live, ‘cause that’d be an easy way to take us all out.” The other two froze in fear, and he laughed. 

\---

In the living room, William chewed on his fingernails, his stare hopping from the hallway to the kitchen.

“Hey Billy, since you’re me, and a _doctor_ -doctor,” he started nervously. “Uh. Do you think I could handle another glass of wine? Or maybe something _way_ stronger.”

“Give your poor liver a break,” Billy said. “The last thing we want is you getting cirrhosis, and I’m not donating part of mine.” William squirmed. “You’re not an alcoholic, are you?”

“No! Of course not,” he squeaked. “But I can only deal with so much stress, and this is clearly the most fucked up situation one could be in.”

“Dude, _breathe_ ,” Billy said with sympathy. “I’ve had to perform spinal surgery with a gun to my head; the secret is not thinking about the gun.”

William’s eyes widened. “What a life you’ve led.”

“Yeah, when I say it all out loud it’s pretty disturbing,” Billy mused. “If I didn’t need therapy before, I’ll definitely need it now." He'd force his boss to foot the bill. “Have you ever gone to therapy?”

“I have a great life,” William said defensively.

“Yeah that’s… not what it’s for.”

The bathroom door opened and the two straightened up with nervous attention. White walked in looking a bit frazzled, followed by his now beardless twin. Billy locked gazes with the traveler, who cracked a small smile.

“I clean up nice, huh?” he asked.

Billy nodded wordlessly. Somehow the shorter hair and scar morphed the familiar face into something disarmingly masculine.

“I think we _all_ look nice,” White grumbled, sitting next to Billy.

The traveler adjusted the towel around his neck and sighed. “Fellas, judge me all you want but I need another drink.”

William leapt from the sofa and ran off towards the kitchen. “I’ll get the wine.”

“ _Billy!”_ his husband called after him. “Don't you _think_ about touchin' my stash!”

"I'm nooooot!" his voice echoed.

The traveler grimaced. “Am I enabling somethin’ here?”

Pete waved a hand. “I’ll let him have one night of poor decisions. The guy’s cut out junk food _and_ soft drinks, I’m like a friggin’ slob in comparison.”

“Do you at least have mixers in the house?” Billy asked. “I could go for a ginger ale… My tummy feels funny,” he added bashfully.

"Not you gettin’ sick too,” Peter worried. Billy gave a meek shrug. “Filet mignon a little too rich for ya?”

“Are you calling us poor?” White balked.

“Oh you’re _real_ friggin’ obtuse, huh,” Peter said.

The traveler became more uneasy. “Have all of you been fightin' this whole time, or is it just ‘cause I’m here.”

Billy waved his hands. “We’re fine, you're fine, don’t worry,” he said hurriedly, though he still had trouble holding his gaze. “It’s been a whole _saga_ of long days. I’m... sure you can relate.”

Peter snapped his fingers towards H.E.L.P.eR., who was guarding the stairs. “Hey buddy, you know where the bar is, right? Grab the kid a soda. And one for my own Billy while you're at it — we can’t let a hangover end the universe.”

The robot passed William, returning with a glass in each hand. “Oh, so you changed your minds then?” he said in a smug manner.

“No,” his husband replied, a bit terse. “ _We’re_ bein’ responsible.”

“As if,” William scoffed and handed the second glass of wine to the traveler. His fear of the scarred man had seemed to dissipate now that he was at odds with his spouse.

H.E.L.P.eR. appeared again with a tray of seltzers, passing them around like a butler rather than a security guard.

“Well, isn’t _this_ the weirdest damn cocktail party there ever was,” Peter joked, as if trying to dispel the remaining tension. “Who do you figure will crash it next? George Carlin in a phone booth?”

William was less amused. “If a dimension has any more Peter Whites, I think it might break.”

Peter scowled. “Why am I the bad guy here? You took my last name — _I built you a house_ —”

“Mmn, right,” William replied after a sip, “I wonder if our guests couldn’t tell _you_ built this Barbie Dreamhouse.”

“Barbie Drea—? It’s Miami Vice, and you know it.”

“Miami Vice in the middle of _fucking Colorado_.”

"Hey pally, _you're_ the one who wanted to live a stone's throw from Venture, not me."

“Sorry if this is rude,” the traveler began. The couple snapped out of their argument, like they’d forgotten they had an audience. “But I was surprised by the, uh... lack of sentimental items 'round here.”

“Ah. By that you mean the photos, right?” Peter asked. The traveler nodded. “Yeah, well, we took ‘em down when we were scared the Multiverse might collapse.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to put them back up,” Billy said. “We could even help, if you want. It’d be a way to pass the time.”

“That’s my guy’s call, not mine,” Peter said. William stared at him incredulously. “No, it’s _your_ house, so.”

“They’ll go back up _sometime,”_ William said. “You could send kids to college from what we spent on them. But I’d need confirmation from the Doc first.”

“I thought we were past being nannied,” White said with exasperation. “I mean, the new guy is _right here_.” William shrugged in response.

“Do you have a wedding album?” the traveler asked.

“Yeah.” Peter’s gaze shifted, caught between a wary husband and a bereft double. “Uh.”

“You think I could see it? Before my machine’s fixed?” the traveler requested timidly.

“S-Sure,” Peter said, evidently swayed by the sad eyes.

William turned to him sharply. “Peter, is that _wise?_ ” he asked.

“Aw, give him a break,” Peter replied as he stood from his seat. He flashed the traveler an apologetic smile. “I think it’s… I’ll go get it for ya, friend.”

Once Peter was out of earshot, William crossed his arms. “I’m not trying to be a bitch or anything. I just don’t want to… trigger strong emotions. Dr. Venture said —”

“Forget Dr. Venture; you’re a super scientist too,” Billy said, and William looked taken back. “He’s not your keeper. You've accomplished as much, and you didn't _inherit it_ either. Besides, Rusty’s a control freak.”

“No he’s not,” William said in a brusque tone none had expected. “Maybe _yours_ is, coming over here with the intent to kill.”

“Yikes,” the traveler muttered into his drink.

“But _my_ Rusty Venture is a kind, decent, intelligent —”

Peter returned with the book. “He’s not even here and you’re fully up his ass.”

“ _Peter!_ ” William said through clenched teeth.

“Like, when do you ever praise _me_ in mixed company?”

“Uh, this morning, _several_ times.”

“Once, maybe.”

Billy held up a finger. “He said a lot of nice things about you in our heart to heart.”

Peter’s brow relaxed and he became sheepish. “He did?”

William swirled his wine. “Obviously.”

“Here,” Peter said, offering the book to the traveler. “I know it’s ironic to look at a wedding album of two guys at each other’s throats, but we never did fit the mould.”

“It’s fine,” the man said. “I’m used to it.”

William blinked. “Wait. Why was our album in your rec room?”

“Cause I… I hid it from them,” he said evasively.

“But I saw the framed photos in the wine room.”

White scoffed. “Wine _room_?” he whispered to himself.

“Maybe it was there already,” Peter again deflected, “I can’t remember.”

His husband still studied him over his frames. “In your rec room?”

“Why am I always under interrogation? Maybe it got moved in there with my other stuff — It’s our friggin’ photo album, not a girly mag!”

The traveler stiffened. “If this is so contentious, I don’t _have_ to look—”

“ _Please do_ ,” the couple implored, and then appeared more humiliated than before.

He hesitantly opened the album and flipped through it. “Ah. Jeez,” he said softly. Peter’s jaw tensed, as if awaiting approval. “You two wanna come over and see?” the traveler asked the other guests across from him.

“Nah,” White answered. Billy peered at him in question. “I don't need to see that,” he said under his breath.

“Aren't you morbidly curious?” Billy asked.

“This whole thing is upsetting enough.”

“Upsetting how?” he asked softly. White dismissively shook his head.

“You two look so happy,” the traveler said with a fond smile.

“We were,” William replied. “I mean, we _are_.”

Billy winced as he continued to stare back at White. “Is it that upsetting to think in another universe someone loves me?”

“Woah.” White eyes bugged. “H-Hey that’s — That’s not how I meant it at all.”

“You two OK?” Peter asked.

“Yeah,” White breathed. “We’re just…”

William frowned. “Is this making _you_ uncomfortable—”

The traveler closed the book cautiously, practically shamefaced.

“Don’t stop on our account,” White said. “It’s just… It’s been a day, that’s all.”

Peter began pointing out things in the book, quietly mumbling with the traveler. Their energy was less joyous than one would expect, like two people planning a funeral. On second thought, perhaps being too self-congratulating would be an insult to injury... The third man was in mourning.

Billy still stared at the ground, and White lightly nudged him. “Remember what you said when you found me moping last night? Things are good.”

“Are they?” Billy whispered.

“Not at this _second_ but... like you said before; when we get home, it’ll just be another weird story.” Billy didn’t respond and White poked him again, harder this time. “ _Listen_. If me ‘n you are friends in every universe, then I bet you find love in every one of them too.” White lifted his chin. “But I get to find mine first, because I’m older, and you’ve technically gotten _way_ more action this decade.”

Billy offered a weary but relieved smile. “OK.”

The traveler continued flipping through the album. “It looks expensive, but kinda like... the _Hollywood adaptation_ of what we were dreamin’ about.”

William glanced up in interest. “You were already thinking of a wedding?”

“Of course.” He noticed the other pair staring and shook his head. “I mean, Billy always said if you got that much history behind you and then catch feelings, dating feels a lil redundant. It just boils down to the commitment part.”

White shrugged. “Nothing personal, but I can’t picture myself gettin’ married to anyone.”

“We have the pictures to prove it, fella,” Peter joked.

“You say you're not into it now,” William said, “but once you get to plan a party for yourself, you turn into Bridezilla.”

“Oh, I was _not_ ,” his husband retorted.

“You don’t remember you kicking and screaming about our vows?”

“Those were good vows!”

“They were Talking Heads lyrics.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with that?” White asked.

“Yeah, that’s kinda what I wanted to do,” the traveler said.

“Well he said ‘no’,” Peter grumped.

Everyone argued at once over the merits of such vows, until William held up his hands. “We put enough of them on the wedding playlist, it would’ve been overkill.”

“It’s not _my_ fault that most of our favorite songs are about death, the occult, or breaking up with your girlfriend,” Peter defended. “And I wasn't walkin' down the aisle to _Fuck The Police.”_

"NWA has other songs."

“While we’re on the subject,” the traveler peered at them, “that is, if you don't mind me asking... What’s 'your song’?

“ _Ugh_ , OK,” William sighed. “That's a story too.”

He leaned forward in awe. “Then its gotta be what I think it is?”

“Yes sir,” Peter said.

“ _No freakin’ way,_ ” the traveler laughed. White looked around in confusion. “That's incredible. I’ve even had it stuck in my head all day!”

“Of all the things we could have in common,” William mused. “The odds are… well, I’d say it’s impossible!”

“Makes your head spin just thinkin’ about it,” Peter said. “Our timelines are so different, and yet... a certain song means everything.” He smirked. “Just proves my point; it’s a great tune.” His husband sighed.

“Do _you_ know what they’re talkin’ about?” White whispered to Billy.

“Don’t ask me — _You’re_ the music guy,” Billy replied.

White raised his hand. “Excuse me, can we phone a friend here?”

William studied him. “How do _you_ not know what we're talking about?”

“I dunno — Some kinda inside joke?” White asked.

The traveler’s smile vanished. “They... They didn't fall in love in their universe.”

William turned back to their new guest. “Was it the same for you? Was it that moment?”

“Yeah,” the traveler said. “Absolutely.”

“That's…” William clutched his brow as if dizzy. “That's _fascinating_.”

“Maybe it’s TMI again,” Billy said, “but we’re in the dark here.”

“I hate gettin’ one side of a conversation,” White muttered.

“Unless it’s something on White’s sex playlist — then I don’t need to hear about that.”

“Tch, I _wish_ I’d gotten laid enough to have one of those,” White lamented. He pointed to his married double. “Bet _you_ made a good one.” Peter gave an immodest shrug.

“It’s not that,” William said, and then appeared even more embarrassed. “It sounds corny, but… That's when we looked at each other, and we just knew…” His husband nodded.

The other pair waited for a response. “Knew what?” White asked.

“I dunno how to describe it.” William waved his hands through the air. “ _Everything?_ ”

“Maybe I can jog their memories,” Peter said, then turned to the traveler. “We bought the original master. Own it, framed.” He rose up again. “Looked high and low for the most pristine first pressing too. I can play it for them, if that's alright?”

“Please do, I need a lil levity,” the traveler said. “We never touched our record out of sentimentality — ‘cept for the first time, of course. It's gotta be a year since I even heard it.” He paused. “Or longer, I’ve... lost track of time.”

Peter rifled through a drawer and pulled out an album sporting two Mediterranean women holding roses. _“Tada,”_ he sang.

White almost spilled his soda, startling Billy in the process. “Holy shit. _Baccara?_ ”

“The one and only.”

“I love this single,” White admitted, nearly sounding distressed.

Peter smirked as he slipped it from its case. “Well, I figured.”

Billy looked around, the only one still out of the loop. “What's… I feel like I’m being pranked right now...”

His double stared back in disbelief. “He never played you this?”

“No. Or — I dunno, he’s played me a lot of stuff.” Billy didn’t like all eyes suddenly on him, and White stayed lock-lipped. “I mean, it’s been twenty years and my memory is… The _word_ sounds familiar, but — _White, what is Baccara?_ ” he hissed.

“You mean _who_ ,” White corrected, annoying Billy further.

“You go on and on about Human League, OMD, _P-Model_ — You've never mentioned this.”

“Well, it’s technically euro-disco,” he said flippantly, “I didn’t want to seem like a cheeseball.”

“Rude,” Peter said.

“Oh _please_ ,” William parried, “I’d think the same thing if things didn’t go down the way they did. It’s a stupid song.”

The Petes all protested and William rolled his eyes.

White turned to his roommate. “Billy, don’t be dense here; you definitely heard it at the club last night.”

“I did?” Billy racked his brain. “All I remember is you turning your nose up at every song.”

White frowned. “ _Agh, right_.” He faced away, as if hiding something. “Look — if you hear it, you’ll remember.”

The traveler smiled at Billy. “You'll love it, I swear on my life.”

“Unfortunately,” William grumbled. “Ironically, maybe.”

“Unironically,” the traveler insisted.

“ _Ugh_.”

The needle hit the vinyl, crackling as Billy waited with squirming anticipation for something that was apparently good enough to blow his mind — in _multiple_ timelines. His neck prickled when he heard the chime. A slow breathy warble, so familiar that he felt as if he were leaving his universe once again. Then a disco beat grew.

His fingers twitched and he gripped the seat, feeling slightly untethered from reality.

White prodded him in concern. “You OK, pally?”

Billy stared up at him as the color drained from his face.

“ _We missed our moment,_ ” he whispered in horror.

\---

**Universe 4, The Power Strip, Last Night**

“This is bullshit —” White fumed, “Those women were interested in us until _he_ came along.”

Billy let out an annoyed growl. “No, they weren’t, they thought we were gay businessmen!”

“Oh so you knew this and you didn’t pipe up, huh?” White clenched his newly filled drink. “You just have to screw everything up for us—”

_“Us?_ I didn’t come to a gay bar to pick up chicks!” Billy exploded in frustration. “All I wanted was to have fun with our friends! And with _you!_ _You!_ In the least judgmental environment!” White’s anger vanished and he instead looked like a kicked puppy. “You don’t care what the old folks think about us — It’s not the end of the world if our peers think we’re gay too.” White stared into his glass. “You just sound like a homophobe, and it’s... _embarrassing_ ,” he admitted.

“I... I know, it's just,” White flailed a hand with hesitation, “the word means something _different_ for me and I still react to it —”

“This isn’t the 90s, White!” Billy exclaimed. “Gay is interchangeable with cool now — Why are you letting this get to you?”

White twisted towards Billy in a panic. “Because I'm pushin’ fifty and what if they're right _and I don't actually know who I am?_ ” He gestured at himself, and splashed gin all over his jacket.

Billy stared back, mouth agape. “Oh... Oh my god.”

White set the empty glass on the bar. “I know who I am; I'm the sloppy jerkoff who just flung a drink on himself.”

“Let's get you to the bathroom,” Billy said hastily.

“ _Fuck_.” White got up abruptly and Billy followed with worry, holding out his hands as if he would deftly catch the drunken man’s fall.

White sometimes ‘fell off the wagon’ when offered real cocktails, but never like this. Something else besides his addictive personality was at play.

They waited at the entrance of one of the many occupied unisex bathrooms. White stared grimly ahead, not even batting an eye when a gorgeous woman with cropped curls finally left one vacant.

“Lock the door,” White said as they stepped inside.

Billy flipped the latch. “Alright, it’s lock—”

Before he could finish his sentence, White hunched over the sink, producing strained sobs.

“ _White._ What the…” The sudden outpouring of emotion left Billy dumbfounded. Was this the true version of his roommate he was never supposed to meet? “A — Are you OK?”

“I just… I feel like I’m hurtling through space.” White turned on the tap and splashed it on his face like it would hide the tears. “I don’t know where I’m going, or what’s gonna happen to me — All I got is me, and I don’t know who ‘me’ _is_.”

“You have _me_ too. You’ve... _We’ve_ always had each other.”

“Yeah, but maybe I’m not the guy either of us thought I was. I mean, _again_.”

The weepy existential crisis felt a bit ironic while Divine piped over the bathroom speaker. But perhaps an LGBT safe space was the only place this conversation could manifest.

“If you were gay, that wouldn’t make me uncomfortable. Or even want to change anything between us,” Billy said emphatically. “I thought you were gay for like _years_. If you’ve figured out that you are, I think that's… that’s _awesome_.”

“I like women, though. I’m sure of that —”

“Then maybe you're bi.”

“I... I dunno I just, I don't _think_ I've liked men.” He shook his head. “I mean, like, the times I’ve seen guys in the buff, I felt inadequate rather than _turned on._ It’s no topless Helen Mirren, that’s for sure.”

“Well you can just _say_ you're bi, like, you don't have to take an exam,” Billy assured. “I guess as long as you're _open_ to the concept of maybe liking a guy one day. In that case, maybe I'm bi too, y'know.”

White sniffled . “Really?”

“I'm not afraid of it,” he said with a shrug. “Like, everyone cool seems to be. Bowie, Freddie Mercury, Pete Shelley — J _eez, everyone_ in the 80s was bi, huh,” he added under his breath.

“That…” White wiped his eyes. “That makes me feel better.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smiled at Billy in the mirror. A disco tune began playing over the loud speaker and White gasped. _“I love this song.”_

“You do?” Billy asked, bemused. “But it’s _disco_.”

“Yeah, but still...” White chuckled wistfully. “ _Wow_ , I don’t think I’ve heard it in decades. I used to hype myself up with it when I was anxious.”

“ _This cheesy thing?_ I’m suddenly learning all kinds of things about you,” Billy joked. “But we should clean your jacket before it gets too gross.”

“Oh, so I come out as bi and you immediately try to get my clothes off.”

“C’mon, that’s not what I meant.”

White dropped it down his shoulders. “Uh oh, a striptease.”

Billy smiled. “You're so annoying.”

“What do you think? Sexy?”

He laughed. “No. _Hurry up.”_

“That’s so rude,” White razzed. He pulled off the jacket and tossed it to Billy. “I’m cryin’ my eyes out and you can’t even butter me up.”

“We've just — we’ve been in a gay bar bathroom together for a very long time,” Billy said as he tried to pat it dry.

“And?”

Billy looked up in surprise. “People are gonna suspect something.”

White was now moving to the music. “I don't care.”

“You don't care?” Billy said with amused disbelief.

“No. Everyone already thinks I'm gay and bangin’ you, remember?” White kept dancing.

“I can’t believe this — You're obviously drunk,” he said.

“A lil, _yeahhh_ , but so are you.”

Billy looked away and continued drying the coat. “OK, it’s not that hard to clean.” He held it out. “You’re lucky that gin and tonic doesn’t stain.”

White leaned in. “Wait, wait, hold on.” He closed his eyes and held up his hand. “This is my favorite part, listen. She breaks the fourth wall.” Billy attempted to decipher her thick accent, but was more distracted by his roommate’s face so close to his. White laughed. “ _Ugh,_ it's so dumb, I love it.”

“You’re dumb,” Billy dismissed.

“You love it,” he said, oddly flirtatious, and then rose up with a determined look. “The club mix is nearly a six minute song — If we go now, we can get half of ‘em on the floor —”

Billy snapped out of his flustered stupor. “So we’re doing this? We’re finally gonna have fun tonight?”

“ _Mmhmm.”_ White tied the jacket around his waist. “You and me. Newly officially bisexuals.”

“Oh, that’s official?” Billy asked with a smirk. “This is our coming out party?”

“Yep. But its gotta be a pact, y’know, I ain’t doing this alone.”

Billy sighed. “I think we’re stuck for life. So why not?” White held out his hand. _“Really?”_ Billy said incredulously.

“You wanted PDA,” he said and smiled. “You gave me shit about it all night, so don’t be a hypocrite and break your oath.”

Billy’s tipsy mind tried to make sense of it. “ _Hippocratic,_ you airhead.”

He finally took White’s hand and was led outside, excited like he was opening a new book. A waiting man eyed them with suspicion and nerves hit Billy’s stomach, unsure if White would change his tune when confronted with his fear of judgment.

“ _Jealous?”_ White asked the stranger. And Billy was convinced that this chapter was one worth reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, it's finally time to explain the entire spark behind this fic, and why it's "inspired by real events". My friend's been working thru med school on the other side of the country, and last year, on three occasions, a very specific song she'd never heard before kept playing in liminal spaces. In an Uber after a party, a few weeks later in a mini-mart at 2am, and then while alone in a gay bar bathroom. On that final occasion she Shazam'ed it to see if it was a new popular song. It was not. She's _never_ heard it since in the wild, and we thusly have called it the summer she "got Russian Dolled". We debated even referencing the actual song for the fic, further than half the title, but every one we've played it for seemed to get it stuck in their heads.
> 
> This fic was written as a trade, since we were both going through a hard time and needed distractions, and Venture Bros was our one shared fandom. We got obsessed with the concept of there being a canon alternate universe where Rusty was "perfect", and wondered what that meant for other characters. Headcanons and life events merged, and we again were into the idea of loops, and theorizing on how the time travel and mirrorverses could exist side by side in the Venture Bros canon. And what makes a perfect timeline? Can that actually exist? Are there cosmic scales that level out? Is happiness in the destination or the journey? Will either of us be here tomorrow? Who the hell knows lol we sure didn't predict 2020 that's for sure.
> 
> But hey, we'll always have [our song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sb-zHhd2MlQ).


	13. Kitchen Sink Drama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday the 13th! That hiatus was a little longer than expected but some stuff was going on in my life. Bad health, election stress, compounded by a death in the family. But who isn't going through it right now? It's been an awful year, but we're here, and I'm happy to be back with you.
> 
> CWs: references to death / existentialism,

**Universe 2, White Residence, Midnight**

Silence replaced the cheerful disco, the record player switched off with the same urgency as defusing a bomb. The other three froze while Billy awaited a reaction from his roommate.

White stared back as though Billy had thrown cold water on him. He then bolted upright.

“Missed _what_ moment?” White asked with disdain. “All I remember is a fight and a night of gettin’ piled on for the way I look. There was _no ‘moment’_ , Billy.” White turned to the group. “Look, it’s been fun, but I gotta have some time to myself. The kind where I don’t have to hear _two_ of me bein’ all schmaltzy about wedding crap. I can’t get a girl to even give me the time of day, let alone give me her hand in marriage.”

A few murmured ‘goodnights’ were offered as White flew off into the hall.

The traveler had a dazed look. “And you thought I was the guy who was gonna go nuclear.”

Billy sighed and got to his feet as well. “Yeah, that’s typical of him.”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “Were you makin’ fun of his looks?”

“No!” Billy blurted. “I mean… not like _that,_ he was being an asshole and…” Billy trailed off. “He’s just obsessed about what people think of him. I’ve never had that luxury,” he said almost pointedly at the rich and perfect couple. “But maybe today was too much. I have, like, an _information hangover_.”

“I wouldn’t mind hittin’ the hay myself,” the traveler said and shrugged. “Can’t remember the last time I had an actual bed to sleep on.” He slumped back for emphasis, then held up a finger. “Or this couch will do. It’s already comfier than the twin back home.”

“Tell me about it,” Billy commiserated, a permanent crick in his back.

“It better be,” William said, “it’s Italian leather.”

The traveler fluffed the throw pillow. “ _Good night!_ ”

\---

White laid half dressed, staring at the silken nightshirt in suspicion, as if the dip into luxury had cursed him. Billy entered the bedroom without knocking and White covered himself with it.

“Oh, chill out,” Billy said. “I see you in your underwear or worse every day.”

“I didn’t know who you were,” White replied defensively.

“Yeah, I could've been the two guys who _are_ you, or the ‘me’ who knows you biblically.”

White dropped the shirt. “Alright, I’m too bushed to think straight.” Billy stacked his new clothes on the dresser. “What the heck are those?”

“Our host generously gave them to me,” Billy said, taking off the fresh button-up he’d swapped earlier.

“For keeps?”

Billy turned around to gloat, but White looked even more sullen. “You know I can't get tailored clothes at home,” he explained. "I'm not going to dress like a chorus boy from _Oliver_ for the rest of my life."

“Oh, so _you_ jinxed us,” White said with tired resignation. “Who's vain now?”

“Can you fuck off,” Billy muttered as he perched on the bed to pull off his socks. “Let me have one moment where I get to be the selfish one.”

“Why are you picking on me again?” White groaned.

“Because you embarrassed me!”

White sat up. “ _You_ embarrassed _me!_ ” he said through his teeth.

“Oh, how?!”

“All of them keep judging me for not dating you, like I’m some kind of asshole!” White crossed his arms. “I don’t need it from you too.”

“That’s not what I said at all, and I think you know that.”

“So you’re _not_ sayin’ that if something different happened last night, we’d be in love right now?”

Billy’s shoulder’s stiffened. “No, I… We don’t know what ‘it’ even is. But something important was supposed to happen.” He stared at the ground. “What if we, like, broke the Multiverse because we’re the only version of ourselves who didn’t?”

“Didn’t what?”

“I said I don’t know!” Billy said, blinking hard as if he was holding back tears.

White sighed. “Billy, it’s just… it’s just a stupid _song,”_ he said gently. “I bet they were in love already or whatever. It was probably like a… a coincidence, an inside joke. We got tons of those too, and theirs don't mean more than ours.”

Billy’s brow relaxed. “But they said it’s your favorite record. And you never told me that.”

“It’s not my _favorite_ ,” White said quickly. “And besides, there’s a lot of things I don’t tell you.” He sunk back down onto the pillow.

Billy drew his knees to his chin, and the two sat in silence. “What if we're the dimension where everything goes wrong?”

“C’mon, what could be worse than you being dead?”

Billy paused. “How do you know I'm not doomed to die in some —”

“Because you're not,” White cut him off. “Stop spiraling; that’s _my_ job.”

“Let me vent,” Billy said.

“I am, but you’re talkin’ nonsense when there are bigger things at play.”

Billy glowered back. “Tell me what could be bigger than my own fucking mortality.”

“ _Oh, lets see,_ maybe the fact that it isn’t just two or three dimensions — There is no _real_ us,” White said. “There is no good timeline, there’s no bad, or even normal. It’s just friggin’ chaos out there, like a smashed mirror that keeps breakin’ into infinitely smaller pieces. Till they all become inconsequential, _dust_ ,” his voice quickened. “We don’t matter even in our own existence, because someone’s out there livin’ it for us, and better!”

Silence.

“I’m sorry I asked,” Billy mumbled.

“There, now we mixed my existential crisis in with yours. It ain’t peanut butter and chocolate, I know.”

Billy took a centering breath. “It’s not great, but we’re all in this together.”

“It’s hard to feel that way when you people are gangin' up on me. It’s like the bachelor party all over again.”

“You know, it’s mind-boggling that you came out of that feeling like the victim,” Billy said, though White's ego was as big as a zeppelin and equally flammable.

“I was.”

“Well, here’s my side of it. Shore Leave said that you're bad for me. That you're toxic.” He flashed White a hopeful look. “But now I've seen us out there. We can work.”

“They're married,” White dismissed.

“But that's it! If they can sustain a marriage, why can't _we_ be better?” He paused. “Don’t you… want us to be better?”

“Obviously,” White said. “I just need a little more support on your end.”

“And I need you to stop making a scene every time you're uncomfortable.”

White crossed his arms. “Maybe you’d understand if _you_ had to deal with every person, in every dimension, tellin' you that you don’t know jack about yourself.”

“Well, it’s telling _me_ that if I don’t get to be rich or famous, I just get to be dead!” Billy snapped. “And you don’t see me losing my fucking mind!”

White stared back. “You… sure about that?” Billy said nothing and adjusted his pillow at the footboard. He laid down facing away from his roommate. “Hey, Billy? Would you, uh… wanna sleep up—”

Billy tossed the pillow to the head of the bed and scrambled upward.

\---

**Universe ???, ???, ???**

The grass squashed under Billy’s bare feet, cold between his toes but a welcome sensation after so long in the city. It sent him back to summers on the Venture compound, where he’d stand out on the lawn after a refreshing plunge in the pool. But it rapidly dawned on him that this was not a joyous occasion.

Figures clad in black surrounded something, like they had during Dr. Entmann’s memorial. The group parted, and he spotted both his mother and White lingering behind. He jogged over to them, feeling a bit underdressed for such a solemn affair, with his shoes missing and… these silk pajamas.

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologized. “I didn’t realize we had a funeral to go to.”

They said nothing, without even a glance in his direction. White gave Billy’s mother a gentle hug around the shoulders, before catching up with the rest of the group.

“Did… Did something happen?” Billy asked his mother, who remained at the grave. “Please don’t tell me that —”

He trailed off in horror once he read the name on the headstone: _William Whalen._

Rose burst into tears and Billy felt sick to his stomach.

“No, no, no — This can’t be happening,” he whispered.

“ _Dr. Whalen_ ,” said a familiar and melodramatic voice, _“heed my call!”_

Billy turned in shock and saw the man hovering above him. “Dr. Orpheus!” he exclaimed, glad at least someone could see him.

“Ah! I was beginning to lose hope!” Orpheus exhaled, but appeared relieved. “Are you alright? Have you been harmed?”

“I’m fine. I… I think.” Billy stared at the grave. “Unless… you’re like, necromancing me or something.”

“No. I’m merely in your subconscious mind.”

“So I’m not dead,” he breathed, “I’m just… dreaming.”

“It would appear so.” Orpheus studied their surroundings. “You’re having a nightmare about an untimely demise, I presume?”

“Partially. It’s more about my mother. I… I left her alone for so long. Maybe I’m afraid I’m going to do it again.” He glanced up at Orpheus. “I’m not sure what _you’re_ supposed to represent though.”

Orpheus floated to the ground. “I am no symbol, good doctor, but an oneirogenic visitor.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

“No, but I suppose I may have to ask my next question with a number of entendres.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean this is a sex dream, because no offense, you’re not really my type.”

“No offense taken, it thankfully spares us from any awkwardness in our corporeal lives. But as I said, I am no accidental guest this night. However, I might have the wrong _home_ , so to speak.” Billy wrinkled his brow in confusion. “You must think very hard, Dr. Whalen, and answer me this; do you find yourself… between worlds?”

Billy glanced at the gravestone again. “I thought you said I wasn’t dead.”

“No, not between the planes of life and death, but… are you adrift? A cosmonaut in the vastness of the universe, with no vessel to bring you home?”

Something nagged at him, like he’d forgotten to turn off the stove. “Maybe I’ve been having an emotional crisis.”

“Of what sort?”

“Like I irreparably fucked up my life somewhere.”

“As if you’re in the wrong place?” Orpheus leaned closer. “In someone else’s shoes?”

Billy sighed. “I can’t do your riddles tonight, Dr. O,” he said and rubbed his eye. “I have a hundred other things on my mind.”

“And what would those be?”

“Like…” Again he felt the mental block, as if his mind had been freshly wiped. “I... can’t remember…” He stared at his feet. “I’m sorry —”

“I should be the one to apologize. I’ve never found _myself_ in a situation such as this either.” Orpheus’s gaze fell upon Rose, still sobbing at the headstone. “Dr. Whalen, have you recently done something to make your mother worry?”

Billy’s head snapped upwards. “Y-Yeah.” He didn’t know specifics, but he had a gut feeling. “Something’s wrong.”

“Something is _indeed_ wrong,” Orpheus said with bulging eyes, and Billy understood he was on the right track. “Now tell me; where are you?”

Billy clutched at his head as he focused, and the sensation under his feet was replaced with one cushy against his back. “I… I’m in bed.” He could smell the clean mountain air. “In Colorado.”

“And where is Mr. White?”

Billy felt warmth on his shoulder. “Sleeping next to me. As... usual,” he added bashfully.

“In Colorado?”

Billy gasped. “Wait, where _am_ I? Orpheus, I need to get home! _We_ need to get home!”

Everything began shifting like a boat rolling onto its side. Orpheus held out his hand. “Doctor! You must focus! Stay calm, or else you’ll sever our connection!”

“But I gotta get back to—”

\---

“— _Mom,_ ” Billy said as he awoke with a start. Sun beamed through the cracks in the fluttering guest bedroom curtains, and the air hung thick with the aroma of breakfast. He exhaled and looked at his sleeping roommate. “Wow, for some reason I thought I was home.” White said nothing, his back turned. “Do you smell that —? It’s amazing.”

Still he laid unresponsive and Billy suspected White was under the weather once more.

“You know what else is amazing?” Billy asked. “This mattress. No wonder you’re like a log. I bet it’ll fix all my joint problems,” he chuckled. “When we get home, we should _really_ look into upgrading. Maybe get a loan for a _Sleep Number._ ”

His smile faded as his bedmate remained motionless.

“White? You good?” Billy nudged the lump beside him. “Don’t screw around, this isn’t funny.” The man still didn’t stir or even breathe, skin cold to the touch. “White, seriously, dude. _White!”_ Billy shook him by the shoulder.

“Fuck off — _Whaaaat?!”_ White groaned.

“Dude, you looked dead, like _for real_ dead.” Billy fell backwards and composed himself. “I thought the fucking Multiverse killed you.”

White rolled over onto his back. “I feel like garbage, so maybe it’s tryin’ to.”

“Don’t say that.”

“All I’m sayin’ is we don’t know for sure.”

“You already got on my ass for ‘jinxing’ us,” Billy groused. “Spare me the hypocrisy for once.”

“Well, if we’re jinxed, it’s already too late, eh?”

Billy exhaled. “I dunno how you still manage to be impossible _half-dead._ ”

“If I wasn’t cranky before, I sure am now with such a rude awakening.”

He studied the alarm clock. “It’s half past ten, you probably need breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” White moaned.

“Too bad. You’re going to eat.”

“You’re a surgeon, not a nutritionist.”

“You don’t need to be a GP to know malnutrition is bad.” He held the back of his hand against White’s forehead. “How are the withdrawals?”

“Better. I might just need caffeine to finish it off,” White muttered. “I don’t wanna get up, though. I feel like I could keel over by thinkin’ too hard.”

“Alright. Our hosts are freakishly tidy, but I’ll try to sneak something back.” He hopped off the bed with a yawn and pulled on the bathrobe. “I don’t have _too much_ pocket space to work worth, so forgive me if it’s only a handful of Cheerios.”

“Hey, Billy?” White called. Billy glanced over his shoulder. “You know I appreciate you, right?”

Billy flashed him a small smile. Actions spoke louder than words, but… “It’s nice to hear.”

He followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen and halted at the sight that met him. The island filled with boxes and cartons, spent egg shells and spilled flour, dirty pots and pans, and a mountain of prepared food.

“Are we expecting guests?” Billy asked. “Or a small army?”

William peeked out from behind a pile of pancakes. “I'm freaking out!” he squeaked.

\---

“I can’t believe you made all this yourself,” Billy said, trying a bite of everything. It was healthier than his taste: gluten substitutes, fat free — like the hipster pop-ups in his new neighborhood, but without the exorbitant price tag. “I mean, who needs caterers?”

“I didn’t know what the new guy might like — I just — I listed all my husband’s favorites,” William said, tidying the mess as he tried to calm down. “But he only wanted toast and some of this fruit, so I said ‘how about a protein smoothie’, and he said ‘maybe later’, and I didn’t know what _you two_ wanted, so I just started cooking and one thing lead to another —”

“I mean, most of us would be good with cereal,” Billy said, chewing on a cauliflower waffle bite.

“Cereal? Don’t insult me. When I’m in a crisis, the last thing I want is All-Bran.”

“Well, when _I’m_ in a crisis all I want is Pepto Bismol.” He glanced outside where the other two Pete Whites were still sharing a conversation in the cabana's shade, once again guarded by H.E.L.P.eR. “What are they talking about out there?”

“ _Tch_ , only God could answer that — You know his brain is set on _randomize_. Peter’s _supposed_ to be getting more info out of him about the stolen tech. If it exists in this universe, it shouldn’t be too hard for Rusty to find. We might not even need to fix the damn thing anyway.”

The traveler noticed Billy from afar and gave a small wave. Billy returned it instinctually, but even from this distance the wistful gaze made him feel… flustered.

William cleared his throat, and Billy spun back. “He unnerves you too, huh?” William asked, peering over his frames.

“S-Something like that,” Billy said. “Hey, could I just make a sampler plate to bring back to White —? Besides having an eight-year-old’s palate, I don’t know what he and his _delicate constitution_ can handle.”

William’s brow upturned. “Still ill?” Billy nodded. “You think _he_ wants a smoothie?” William asked excitedly. “I’m just gonna make one. Pureeing helps me blow off steam. So does peeling things. And chopping things. Into little slices...” he said as he gutted a papaya like it had wronged him.

“Yeah, um, knock yourself out, Jack the Ripper,” Billy replied, questioning how much of his own surgical prowess was repurposed aggression.

\---

“Took you long enough,” White groaned from the pillow. “My stomach’s been howlin’ like a banshee. Figured you could hear it through walls.” He noticed that Billy was literally wheeling in a tray. “Good grief!”

Billy placed a coffee cup on the bedside table. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

“By the buffet or by your _boyfriend?_ ”

Billy glared at him. “ _Myself,”_ he answered sharply. “You know that thing mom does where she cooks all day, so she can avoid thinking? Runs in the family, I guess.”

“Your poor, poor ma,” White said, sitting up.

“At least you have sympathy for _one_ Whalen.”

“If I was as sweet on you as I am on her, you’d be on my case for _babying_ you.”

“Oh please. Like you don’t know the difference.” Billy stabbed a piece of breakfast hash. “Here, eat.”

White scoffed. “You don’t have to _hand feed_ me.”

“Yes, I do. These sheets probably cost more than we make in a year, I don’t want you getting food on them.”

“I won’t." He reached for the fork, but Billy moved it away. "Don’t baby _me_.”

“You’ve got the strength of a pool noodle on a good day. Besides, I already banned you from eating in bed at home.”

“Nag,” White said, and took a bite. “Ugh, it’s like eating farts. What’s in that, _brussel sprouts?_ ”

“Or cabbage,” Billy shrugged. White, unsurprisingly, looked scandalized. “There wasn’t much that wasn’t gluten-free.”

“Horrific. _Please_ say there somethin’ normal, like bacon.”

“There’s meat on this one,” Billy said, choosing a cube. “It's melon wrapped in prosciutto.”

“ _Oh no, pally,_ you know how I feel about Hawaiian pizza — What kind of freak puts meat with fruit?”

“You, apparently. In two other lives, you love it,” Billy muttered, holding it out like he was feeding a moody toddler.

White gingerly took a bite and chewed in silence. Billy stared back, waiting for another tantrum.

“Well?” White asked.

“What do you mean _‘well’?’”_ Billy scoffed.

“You gonna starve me —? Gimme another one.”

Billy shoved the plate into White’s hands. “OK, I’m done playing nurse. If you make a mess, I’ll let William punish you. Then you’ll _really_ start to appreciate me.”

“He seems nice,” White said, mouth full. “Both our hosts make us kinda look like jerks in comparison.”

Billy made a hesitant noise. “I have a feeling he’s about to snap.”

“William? No offense, but what could that nerd do?”

“The guy is ripped, he’s like a travel-sized Clark Kent,” Billy said. White raised a brow. “And I have it on good authority _I’ve_ bodied Brock Samson. Twice.”

White stared for a moment, and then began eating more delicately.

\---

**Universe 1, Hudson River Park, Noon**

A plainclothes OSI agent lifted crime scene tape, and Rusty stepped under it. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I stopped for a matcha on the rocks.” He jiggled the mostly empty cup. “I also have your number marked as spam.”

Gathers snarled at him. “I knew you were avoiding our calls, you poltroon!”

Rusty smirked and handed Brock a coffee. Gathers stared back at the agent.

“Yeah — I didn’t ask him to bring me one,” Brock said. “But maybe he knows if he _didn’t_ , I would’ve popped his stupid head off.”

Rusty smiled wider. “Don’t say I don’t know you, Samson.”

“ _I’m_ the one you should be afraid of, Venture,” Gathers said.

“Afraid of _you?_ ” Rusty scoffed. “When I was a child I took down _mummies_ that had more muscle mass. And _now_ I have friends in high places,” he added with purpose. “Friends with _benefits,_ you could say.”

“You just keep telling yourself that,” Gathers replied.

“So, what, did you track the twerps down? Did a _Stargate_ open on 12th avenue?” Rusty looked around the bustling site. Agents in hazmat suits taped a grid on the asphalt in the wake of others waving long sticks. “Oh don’t tell me you’re resorting to _dowsing rods_. I could’ve hired Orpheus for this crock.”

“Don’t wanna step into a tear between worlds, Doc,” Brock replied.

“We’ve partitioned off the block,” Gathers added. “Told the local feds there’s been a uranium spill. They keep their traps shut to ward off panic, and _we_ get free rein of the area for as long as we need.”

“And how long do you think you’ll need it?” Rusty asked. “Traffic was a bitch.”

“Remains to be seen. But stop your whingeing; you’re lucky this takes precedence over your teleporter mishap.” Gathers turned to study the scene. “We have it straight from the Quizboy’s mouth White left the club without his telephone, so we can only track one of them for sure.”

“Billy’s last text says they were headin’ home,” Brock said. “Shore Leave pinged him up to this point, and triangulated the area.”

“We tried to pull security footage,” Gathers continued, “but something fried every camera, streetlight, and Playstation in a mile radius. Like there was a military grade power surge.”

“Either someone didn’t want to be seen, or there’s somethin’ more freakish at play,” Brock said.

“Now I’m gonna ask you, Venture: did you three have any late night, off-the-record experiments?”

“Don’t be crude,” Rusty dismissed and loudly sipped his drink.

“Sometimes I wonder if those two boffins function as your only brain-cells. I’m talking about R&D keeping things from the OSI.”

“Besides the teleporter tuning, we’ve been sticking to less ‘fate of the world’ stakes, thanks to you killjoys,” Rusty answered. “Like longer lasting chewing gum flavors, and cures for White’s tinnitus — _And before you ask_ , the gum took out one of my fillings and White got swimmer’s ear.”

Gathers smiled. “Good. That’s more like the VenTech quality we expected from you.”

“Oh _kiss my ass_.”

“Boom!” shouted a voice. Shore Leave and Amber Gold stood near the park side of the street. “Just call me Madeline Kahn, because I’ve got a _clue!”_

The three others approached. “What’d you sniff out there, boy?” Gathers asked.

“White’s prissy little _man bag_ ,” Shore Leave replied, hoisting up a leather tote with disgust. “I know what you’re thinking; I’m not one to talk — but get a fanny pack or _go all out!_ ”

“How do you know it’s his?”

“Oh, let’s see... just a nail file, some zinc sunblock, and I dunno, a _literal photo_ of him and Quizboy.”

“So they _did_ find each other,” Gathers muttered.

Amber took the Polaroid and bagged it. “Aww, he carries it around with him n’ everything? Ain’t that sweet?”

“That’s odd,” Brock said to Rusty. “I don’t remember _either_ of them bringin’ a bag to the club.”

“They’re engaged!” she gasped.

“Nutso, isn’t it?” Gathers said. “Thought the little guy had more sense.”

“Well if I knew that, I would’ve been nicer to the lanky one. Can you believe I thought that tall drink of pink lemonade was hittin’ on me!” she giggled.

“Let me see that,” Rusty said, and Amber handed him the evidence bag. “When the hell did they take this — Is this an _engagement party?”_

Shore Leave cracked a smile. “Doc, don’t tell me you weren’t invited. This is like when Teresa snubbed Teresa on _Housewives_.”

“No, he’s right there, see?” Amber said helpfully. “That’s your lil bald head in the back.”

Brock studied it too. “Doc, it’s the… This was taken on your roof.”

Rusty stared at him in fear. “Did I get blackout drunk at a fake engagement party, or did you _wipe me_ too?”

“Fake?” Amber asked, sounding disappointed.

Shore Leave shook his head. “I think he’s _losing it_ , Texas Gold’em.”

“You gotta take your OMEGA-3’s, sugar. I know they’re big as the pills we give our horses back home, but —”

Brock turned to Gathers as Amber continued rambling. “Hey, is there any way of knowin’ if something is from… another dimension?”

“Hate to say it, but beats me. We’re taking Venture’s word for there even being alternate dimensions; which is flimsy proof itself.” Gathers pursed his lips. “Can’t think of a soul who has experience in this sort of crap.”

“Well,” Rusty interrupted. “Other than the guy who sent me there in the first place, I can think of one more who can back me up.” He scrunched up his face and concentrated.

After a pause, Gathers spoke. “Is that an aneurysm or just constipation?”

“ _Centrum Silver!”_ Amber said. “That’s what my daddy takes!”

“Doc, are you alri—”

The astral projection of Orpheus appeared, holding a small trowel. “VENTURE! ARE YOU IN PERIL?!”

“SWEET MARY AND JOSEPH!” Gather shouted back in shock.

Everyone froze, including the dozens of field agents. Orpheus blinked. “Oh, you have company. Hello!” he chuckled sheepishly. “I didn’t realize this was a ‘group chat’.”

“Hello, Orpheus,” Rusty said, and Gathers continued goggling at the specter.

“May I be of assistance somehow?” the necromancer asked.

“Yes, could you tell the General here that Billy and White are in a parallel universe?”

“Oh, they certainly are,” Orpheus said, with a nod. “In fact, I spent the dawn hours attempting to devise a line of cross-dimensional communication.”

“Good.” Rusty turned back to the agents. “You see? I’m not a liar.”

Orpheus still seemed awkward. “You know, next time you could ring me the old fashioned way, when I don’t have a _pooper scooper_ in hand.”

“I needed to prove a point,” Rusty said. “I don’t think Doubting Thomas here would’ve believed me otherwise,” he added towards Gathers.

“Now that that’s settled, put Al on the party line!” Shore Leave said.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Orpheus replied.

“Boo. Then tell the old witch I prefer FaceTime, or else I’m gonna find me a boyfriend who _can_ astral project.”

Gathers turned to him. “This is an interdimensional incident, not Tinder! Get back to work, and position the freshmen for a scrubbing.”

“I _wish_ that was as fun as it sounds,” Shore Leave grumbled.

Brock waved his hand. “Hey, Dr. O, it’s Brock.”

“Yes, Mr. Samson, I can see you fine,” he replied, sounding tired.

“We think we found the scene of the crime — or rather the site of some, uh… _paranormal activity,_ ” he said like it was bad taste and Gathers huffed. He held up the evidence bag. “You figure you can _abra cadabra_ this stuff to see if it’s from another world?” The projected Orpheus leaned in to examine.

Gathers crossed his arms. “Why don’t we check our horoscopes while we’re at it? Samson’s a Gemini and I’m the big fucking crab!”

Brock shrugged. “No offense, General, but you didn’t have a better idea.”

Orpheus hummed in thought. “I suppose nothing in science nor sorcery is gained without experimentation. Are there any enchanted items, perchance? Amulets, scrolls —”

“It’s not _World of Warcraft,_ ” Brock said, “it’s just White’s travel bag.”

Amber rifled through the evidence. “Nothin’ real fancy. Just some cosmetics, a snack bar, a photo —”

“Of sentimental value?” Orpheus asked.

Amber held it out. “And how!” Orpheus gasped, and she stepped back in surprise.

“What —” Gathers hissed. “You got something already—?”

Orpheus smiled. _“They’re betrothed!”_ he cooed.

Rusty groaned. “Oh this stopped being funny twelve hours ago — _Can you find them or not?”_

The necromancer recovered his professional air. “I have performed many a homing spell in my day. With the tear in your purported vicinity, and perhaps a summoner's circle, there is a chance I could relay the events leading up to the satchel’s discardal.”

“You can’t bring ‘em back by the scruff of the neck?” Brock asked.

“Mr. Samson, I am not a _one-stop-shop_ for everything metaphysical. Whoever caused this rift must have power beyond what I ever knew possible.” He lifted his chin. “Or someone very desperate toyed with things outside his control.”

Rusty snapped his fingers. “That one, _that_ sounds like White.”

\---

**Universe 2, White Residence, 2pm**

The stark changes in this timeline were plentiful, both obvious and subtle, but as Billy and White made their way back to the main room, they could hear the most familiar sound. An argument.

They passed by the traveler, who lounged on the sofa sipping a smoothie and thumbing through a gossip magazine like he was at a spa. “Bet you know _this_ song,” he muttered.

“Nobody asks you to do these things, fella,” Peter scolded. “You go, ‘Oh, it’s just my personality’, like that makes you better than the rest of us — but then you make a big stink when no one ‘appreciates’ it,” he said with air quotes.

White looked down at Billy with a smirk and Billy lightly stepped on his toe.

“I have standards, Peter, _standards!”_ William growled. “I’m not going to live my life with the bar on the fucking floor, always doing the bare minimum because I can’t look outside myself.”

“Yeah, I rented out a Vegas casino for your graduation party because I don’t care about anyone but myself.” Pete poked his husband’s forehead. “All that trivia you stuffed in there must’ve given you a selective memory.”

William slapped it away. “ _Ohhh,_ I’m soooo indebted to you because you did one nice thing fifteen years ago.”

“Well you _married me_ , so I must’ve done more than one nice thing since. Piss off with that attitude, kid.”

“Then help me do the dishes, you lazy tool.”

“Make H.E.L.P.eR. do it!” Peter said, but H.E.L.P.eR. refused. “Oh, _‘offensive stereotype’_ — It’s literally in your name!”

“Be an adult and pick up a plate, Peter,” William said.

“Nobody told you to make this mess, this is _your_ bed to lie in.”

Billy had to interrupt. “Hey, you two need to stop. I’ll do the dishes.”

“There’s a man with reason.” Peter stared at Billy with relief. “Thank you, pally.”

William seemed even angrier. “No way, that is not how I treat guests in my home!”

“Yeah, he makes the caterers do it.”

William stammered explanations while his husband looked smug. Billy patted his double on the shoulder. “If this is the worst he’s done to you, you really live a charmed life.”

White smiled at Peter. “Yeah, you could do so much more and he’ll still forgive you.”

“Oh my God, White, that’s not what I meant,” Billy said, grabbing a dish to clean.

“One time when he was sleeping — _and I was super baked_ — I put his robo-hand in water just to see what’d happen,” White said, scraping a frying pan.

“And _that_ explains why I water-proofed this,” Billy mumbled to himself, the lost memory hazy in his mind. "But that's a good point." He looked at William. “How many times has he electrocuted you? Zero? Count your blessings — and grab a sponge. Four people will make this pile vanish in a minute.”

Peter flapped his hand at White. “Why don’t you stick with drying the pots and pans — If you get the vapors and break some of his china, he’ll probably strangle you to death.”

The traveler peeked his head over the back of the sofa. “Need an extra hand in there?”

They froze, having briefly forgotten about the interloper, the fifth wheel, the man responsible for this crashing of worlds.

Peter cleared his throat. “We’re good here. You just rest up, friend. We’re still waitin’ on a call from Venture, remember.” The traveler nodded and sunk back down out of sight.

Billy turned to William. “He does look a little… um, _unwell._ ”

White shrugged. “It’s probably the time machine equivalent of gettin’ car sick. If I’m havin’ a rough time, I’m sure all his travel’s been a real shock to the system.”

Peter wrinkled his nose. “Speakin’ of shocks...”

“Oh yeah,” White said and lowered his voice. “Last night’s… _incident_ made me forget to tell you. Something’s up with that guy. Like, paradoxically.”

William looked up from scouring a pan. “Uh, this is news to _me_ , Peter.”

“Sorry,” his husband whispered, “we didn’t really have time to discuss.”

“Is he going to rip a wormhole in my house? Because if he is —”

“I don’t think it’s like that,” White said. “I mean, just as long as we Petes don’t touch the guy, I think we’re good.”

“Yeah,” his double nodded, “remember that whole ‘phasing into his own body’ stuff? Maybe he’s unstable in this world, y’know? Since there’s _three_ of us?”

“And you’re just OK with giving an interdimensional suicide bomb free range?” William hissed.

“Oh not you wanting to lock him up too,” Peter whined. “I had a good long chat with the guy. He’s goin’ through it, sure, but it sounds like he just wants to get home to…” he turned to Billy instead of his husband, “get home to your ma.”

“So I’ve heard,” Billy sighed, stomach in knots again. “I think I had a dream about her.” His brain buzzed. “I’m probably gonna be having a lot of weird dreams while I’m stuck here.”

“Ah, cheer up,” Peter said, “we’re on the trail now, aren’t we? Just gotta play phone tag with Venture and the OSI, and then before you know it you’ll both be back slavin’ away at your nine to five.”

White frowned. “I guess there’s no reason we can’t look at this like an impromptu vacation. I gotta try out that hot tub of yours before we get recalled.”

Peter’s flip-phone rang. “Wow, I’m becomin’ psychic or somethin’... Oh wait, it’s not him.” He answered the phone, more cloying than expected. “ _Hey baby girl,_ what’s new? Mmmyeah, still here. We got a lead, but y’know, a bunch of technobabble, so I ain’t the guy to ask.”

“Wow, I’m kinda useless in this world,” White muttered to Billy.

“It’s a little sad, I agree,” he replied, and turned to William again. “So did we learn anything else from the new guy?”

"He's also fuzzy on the details, but he did give us more background on his machine. Either he's really flying blind or this technology is more than even I can wrap my brain around. And I work in theoretical physics."

"Well, White and I are also super scientists.”

“Yeah, we built a teleporter, remember?” White bragged.

“Maybe we can help out.”

“It’s difficult to parse just what he's talking about,” William answered. “He wants to see this JJ guy, says he’ll know more than Rusty, but like, if _I’ve_ never heard of him then in this world he’s probably not gonna be of use to us.”

“JJ, as in Jonas Jr?” White suggested. “Rusty’s twin brother?”

William furrowed his brow. “Rusty doesn’t have a twin brother. Trust me, _I’d know_.”

“Guess you _would_ know, seein’ you have a lot in common.”

“ _Huh?”_ William asked.

Peter was now off his phone call. “Do you two think it’s weird for a guy to know more about his husband’s ex-friend than he even knows about his husband?”

“Oh, not this again,” William groaned.

Billy tried to get his double back on track. “Are you _sure_ he doesn’t have a brother?”

Peter laughed. “Oh c’mon, who _isn’t_ a Venture brother? His dad got around, just like he does.”

“Please don’t tell me _I’m_ a Venture,” Billy said with a nervous chuckle.

“Don’t be ridiculous —” William said, “Why would we be a Venture?”

“Because apparently mom knew them back in the day,” Billy said.

William nearly dropped the plate he was scrubbing. “Mom _what?_ ”

“Hey fellas,” said another voice, and they turned to see the traveler standing at the edge of the kitchen, staring at them with a bizarre look on his face. “I don't feel so hot.”

And he collapsed to the ground like life had left his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm the queen of mean cliffhangers apparently, but I need to keep you all on your toes! Also I keep adding characters to the cast impulsively. Anything can happen! It's chaos!
> 
> Thanks everyone to your support and patience <3 I'm struggling trying to catch up on NaNo but I really hope to follow a time table here and get you some chapters to read over the holidays!
> 
> And I hope you checked out the goodies from last update: [a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6bXnGSOx3STHh1hB2tc9wD?si=ehnETYhYQvup917aQLbtqA) with some [liner nots](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1P0J-AoZMxsE6fU9gUHMfKKRX4hswmfiAJ8c57wBRfz8/edit?usp=sharing)


	14. Hello Stranger, You're In Danger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, gang. Meant to have this up LAST week but guess what happened? I had a 5 day illness spell lol  
> And before you're like, hey take your time, (which I appreciate because you're all dolls), I have a super specific schedule for these next chapters because I want to post two before the end of the year. TWO??? Yes, because I Love U All.
> 
> CWs: Sexual jokes, injury, mentions of past addiction, legal drug use, self medication, crude humor, very personal insults, existential and mid-life crisis stuff. General warning that it's just kind of bristly top to bottom.

**Universe 1, Hudson River Park, 30 minutes earlier**

“Of course the son of a bitch comes down in a bubble,” Gathers muttered as Orpheus gracefully stepped out of a spherical force-field. “The nerve.”

Orpheus raised an eyebrow. “You requested my presence posthaste, and my roommate’s cellular telephone said it’d take an extra hour by detour.” He smoothed down the winkles in his smoking jacket. “Most fortuitously, a friend from college owed me a long-overdue favor.”

“And her name’s Glinda, I presume.”

“Brad, actually.”

Gathers remained unmoved. “Suppose no one told you, but we’re the Office of _Secret_ Intelligence. The Guild’s watching our ass like flying monkeys, we can’t be drawing attention to something like this.”

“Ain’t the weirdest thing I’ve seen today,” Brock said.

Rusty nodded. “I passed a pigeon woman eating popcorn off the ground. And not a woman who feeds birds, I mean she was literally part pigeon.”

“God I hate New York,” Gathers growled.

“Anyway, shouldn’t the rest of your throuple be here?” Rusty asked Orpheus.

Shore Leave approached him as well. “Yeah, too small to carpool?”

“In a word, yes,” Orpheus said and then cracked a smile. “Perhaps an archmage could succeed, but you can’t expect a _warlock_ to triple his Chariot of Margaritum, can you?” He giggled, as if relaying a relatable anecdote.

“I don’t see why my boyfriend avoiding me is a laughing matter.”

“Oh come now, I found a covenant bodge.” Orpheus reached into his jacket and pulled out a jPad, which he promptly handed to Shore Leave.

“Would you look at that!” Shore Leave exclaimed, holding it up. “Grandma learned to use the internet!”

The Alchemist covered his face. “Ugh, you know the front facing camera adds ten years. I look like I should be on the cover of AARP.”

“But at least you’re a cover girl,” Shore Leave said.

“Hold on, lemme see if they have any SnapChat filters on this.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not every app is SnapChat — _Ooh that’s a good one!_ You look like an anaphylactic Liza Minnelli.”

“I’m blushing!”

Gathers fumed. “I retract any previous ballyhoo about Shore Leave’s sense of duty.”

“Aww, you said something _nice?”_ Shore Leave laughed. “Then that’s your cross to bear!”

“Keep it up and I’ll take that damned contraption away!” Gathers said. “Children like you need less screen time as it is.”

“Don’t be a fuddy-duddy,” the Alchemist said. “I’m just here to help Byron.”

Jefferson Twilight leaned into frame. “I am also here. But not to help. I have no idea what’s going on.”

Orpheus clasped his hands. “The entire Order of the Triad is at your disposal, as Dr. Whalen is one of our own.”

“Are you implying Quizboy is like a witch doctor?” Shore Leave asked. “Get it, Al? Like a doctor for —”

Gathers grabbed the jPad from the agent’s hands and gave it to Amber Gold instead. “Whatever your business here, you better keep your _other_ business out of it,” he said to screen.

“Forgive us,” Orpheus said. “We moved into quite a fixer-upper, so it’s... _been a while_ since we’ve fraternized with our fellow man. Those who can’t astral project can get a bit stir-crazy.”

“That’s an understatement,” the Alchemist lamented. “I miss gay bars so much, I pretended to be interested in radiator repair just to stand near a lesbian.”

“I watched three seasons of The Vampire Diaries, hoping to feel something,” Jefferson said. “I got nothing. Other than contempt for pasty goths.”

“Speakin’ of pasty goths...” Brock said insistently.

Orpheus gave a nod. “From what I have deciphered, this may have not been a simple thinning of the veil. Dr. Whalen and his dear companion seem _in fact_ to be housed in the Colorado Rockies.”

Rusty blinked. “How the hell did they get there from Manhattan?”

“ _That_ is what I’ve yet to uncover. Be it an unstable rift spitting them out like roulette? Or perhaps they were deliberately spirited away to a secondary location, by an unknown party.”

Brock crossed his arms. “Never rule out an abduction when Billy’s the one in trouble.”

“Maybe some folks from another dimension had to steal him from ours,” the Alchemist chimed in. “‘cause in theirs he’s dead or something.”

“Now that’s just... _bleak_ , man,” Jefferson said.

“Well, let’s hear your idea,” the Alchemist snipped. “Lemme guess; it was Nosferatu!”

“If you’re gonna insult my profession, at least pick a story with interdimensional vampires. Like uh... Vampire Diaries.”

Gatherers put his hands on his hips. “Looks like everyone brought their personal peanut galleries — And I refuse to let the clowns run this circus!” he said. “Let's get this over with before they summon the ghosts of Siegfried and Roy for backup.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but those vanishing tigers were _fake_ magic,” the Alchemist corrected.

“I wasn’t born yesterday!” Gathers announced. “I’ve got the hair loss to prove it.” He turned to Brock. “You take it from here, son, you’re used to this shit show. I’m going to call some scientists of the _sane_ variety. Gold, you come with me. We need your southern comfort on the phone. Been told I’m not a people person.”

“Aw, I wanted to see the magic show.” Amber handed Brock the jPad and followed with a pout.

Brock sighed and turned to Orpheus. “Don’t make me look bad, man.”

“Never fear, Mr. Samson. I can only benefit this investigation of yours. Magic is the only way to glean truth from events which bear no witness!” He tented his fingers. “If a tree falls in the woods with no one to hear, does it make —”

“It does, it definitely does,” Jefferson interrupted and Orpheus frowned. “I mean, c’mon, that’s just logic.”

“Nevertheless, my point remains.” He studied the roped off area. “Now, the crosswalk; I am sensing an unusual overtone from it… like the stench of ozone after lightning.”

Rusty sniffed the air. “Smells like New York to me.”

“Well, I find it a great place to start,” Orpheus said. “But I’ll need assistance delineating the runes, as this usually involves three. Al shall instruct us remotely.” He pulled a sandwich bag from his other pocket. “I brought the sidewalk chalk!” he said eagerly.

“Gosh, do I love group art projects!” the Alchemist teased.

“Now I’m even more glad we stayed at home,” Jefferson said. “I’m too old to be bending over like that.”

“That’s what _he_ said,” Shore Leave quipped.

“You jokester, I did not!” the Alchemist laughed.

“Get some new material!” Rusty said and snatched the chalk from Orpheus's hand. “C’mon, Brock. If we help draw his paranormal hopscotch, we might be done by Happy Hour.”

\---

A power like this couldn’t be utilized easily or even frequently, as much as Orpheus would’ve _loved_ to discover who ate the last bit of Gruyère from the shared refrigerator. It also depended on the place of ley lines, the amount of vibrations, and the quartz in the soil. Too much activity made the ‘recording’ fuzzy and difficult to parse, like feedback or throwing gravel in a still pond.

He stepped out of his body and into this psychic realm, similar to how he viewed the world in the astral plane, but in colors he could not describe. Now that every aura of every living thing in proximity fought for his attention, concentration was key.

Though he had not witnessed the event, that disturbance at a quarter till midnight had been enough to rouse him. This at least pinpointed the time of the disappearance.

Orpheus watched the blurry world pass by like a backward time lapse. Cars and people phased through him, leaving nothing but small tingles of static through his nerves. The rising sun sunk down into the sky, the streets became more abandoned — and like a flash, Billy and White appeared on the crosswalk, clear as day. Orpheus paused the ‘recording’ at their last known moment in this world and studied them. The pair remained frozen in time, holding hands, and _laughing._

“Nothing is amiss,” he remarked. “They are… happy.”

He turned in search for another sign — and jumped when he came face-to-face with a third figure he hadn’t noticed. One who should not exist. Another Pete White. Orpheus attempted to rewind further, but the twin vanished. His visage appeared not a moment before Billy and White’s own disappearance, and not a moment after. Like he only existed in a second of time.

“Who are you?”

Orpheus examined the man, identical to the White he knew, save for the scar across his face. This traveler sported a messenger bag sliding off his shoulder, and a strange contraption, like a jetpack. Wires snaked along his body, connecting to cuffs on his extremities and a visor. Text reading ‘RORRE’ had frozen across the transparent screen — or perhaps ERROR. Unsurprisingly, he had contorted with alarm as if bracing for impact.

“Where did you come from?” Orpheus whispered, feeling dread himself. “Where did you go?”

It was not a man from this world, but an uncanny stranger. His aura was a shade different, his resonance a bit flat. Orpheus had never attempted telepathy with someone from another dimension, but he had a minor success in reaching poor Billy Whalen. He could not physically touch the image, in the same way one couldn’t grasp music in their fist. But if he tuned out all else, these replayed echoes could become visceral as a bass-drum.

Brow knit, Orpheus focused on the off-kilter buzz. “Stranger, unstuck in time and space... Which dimension calls you home?”

The resonance grew louder. He felt the man’s psyche, sensed weakness, pain both physical and emotional, and deep, deep _terror._

“Peter White!” Orpheus said, sweat dripping down his cheek, his head spinning. _“Heed my call.”_

And then it vanished, leaving Orpheus reeling and clutching his face like someone had punched him. In his shock, he lost all focus and the world rematerialized. This severed connection was not like Billy’s dream fading to consciousness, but as if the sorcerer had smothered the stranger with a pillow.

“Well?” he heard Brock ask from behind.

Orpheus turned back with a worried smile. “Aha, whoopsie.”

Rusty threw his arms up. “What do you mean 'whoopsie'? What the hell did you do?”

“I may have… focused a little too hard.”

\---

**Universe 2, White Residence, Present**

“Shit!” the four shouted once the traveler hit the floor. Billy and White scrambled to his side in horror, half out of compassion but equally terrified about their way home. Their lives were intrinsically tied now.

“Hey, _hey buddy?”_ White frantically nudged his double with his foot, too afraid to touch him directly. “Ah jeez, don’t bite it yet.”

Billy had no such fear, and checked the man's pulse. “It’s shallow, but it’s there. We’re lucky he fell on this rug.”

“Maybe he slipped on it,” White said.

“No, he definitely fainted,” Billy replied, examining the traveler's head. “Between you and Rusty, I know the signs well.” There was no sign of blood, and shockingly his eyelids flitted as if in REM sleep.

"Should we call an ambulance?"

“This is a multiverse incident, he already exists here as a celebrity.” Billy shook his head. “There's no way we could explain this.”

“Let’s get him on the couch,” White said. “He’s gonna feel worse if we leave him on the hard ground.” H.E.L.P.eR. rolled over and tried to bend down, but his arms couldn’t reach the floor. “Rust needs to build you some damn knees — what a design flaw!”

“We can use the rug to pull him.” Billy glanced over his shoulder, and the couple stared back. “Are you just gonna stand there?”

White glared at them too. “Have some friggin’ decency!”.

“I saw him zap you!” Peter countered.

“I can touch him fine," Billy said, "but I can’t carry dead weight.”

“Ah jeez, don’t say _dead_ ,” White groaned.

“Put on some oven mitts,” Billy continued, “something!”

Peter yielded, and soon he and his double hoisted the kitchen mat with the traveler upon it. Billy took up the slack by lifting the man’s legs, and the three inelegantly slung him onto the sofa.

The self-taught surgeon went straight into doctor mode. “I don’t have any equipment, do you?”

Peter cringed. “My guy ain’t that kind of doc — It’s all at Venture’s house.”

H.E.L.P.eR. showed off a Swiss Army Knife of medical tools, and Billy waved them away. “I doubt neurosurgery is the answer.” Billy turned back to the traveler and ran a hand down the man’s face. “Fuck, he’s so cold.”

“Is he OK?” Peter asked hesitantly.

“What I do know is he’s probably malnourished, maybe dehydrated.”

“He was hittin’ the sauce pretty hard last night,” Peter agreed.

Billy examined the man's even paler complexion and undid the buttons on his jeans.

"Woah, woah —" White objected. "You're not gonna try true love's _handy."_

“Oh shut up,” Billy scolded. “I need to make sure the blood flow to his heart isn't obstructed.” He gestured to Peter. “Get a pillow under his legs for elevation.”

"Yes, doctor," Peter replied and Billy wasn't sure if he was being mocked.

“I wish I could put him on a saline drip,” he said under his breath. William remained a long breadth from the commotion. Billy frowned at him. “Hey, grab me a duvet, anything.”

William grimaced. “What if he vomits on it?”

“Huh?”

“They’re expensive—”

Peter whipped around. “Babe? _We have the money._ ” His husband nodded and scurried away.

Billy found the pulse at the neck, that thankfully grew with strength. “If what he's been up to is true, he’s probably lost all concept of time as it relates to basic needs. One plate of pad thai won’t fix God-knows how long he went without proper food.”

“I’m sure the chain smoking doesn’t help,” White added.

Billy laid his ear on the traveler’s chest. “His breathing sounds good…” He felt the pulse quicken against his cheek. “Actually, it’s—”

A hand swept gently through his hair and it tingled up his shoulders. Billy straightened up as the traveler took a deeper breath and blinked heavy eyes.

“Hey,” Billy whispered attentively. He clasped the other’s clammy hand. “You fainted. How do you feel?”

“Like death.” He exhaled. “Swear I saw a tunnel of light and everything. Am I a zombie now, doc?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Billy said with a smile. “Did you get bitten during your travels?”

The other man chuckled. “How ironic that you’re still the one savin’ me. Can’t stop bein’ a hero,” he said and drew Billy’s hand to his chest, who blushed in response.

He found his head. “I just hope I don’t have to play nurse for a third White today.”

The traveler raised a brow. “Yours givin’ you trouble?”

“When is he not?”

“We tend to do that.”

White glared down at them. “Sounds like you have a concussion, buddy, ‘cause you’re talkin’ crazy.”

Billy remembered he was in a room full of concerned people — and robot — and became embarrassed about getting lost in a banter. He stood up and composed himself.

“Is there a-anything we can get you?” Billy asked, now avoiding eye-contact.

“Just water’s fine,” the traveler said bashfully while Peter carefully draped the duvet over him. “Sorry to make you all worry… I got no idea what that was, ‘cept everything catchin’ up to me.”

“We figured as much,” White said, in the accusatory tone Billy often used on him.

“When you’ve been livin’ life trying to un-fuck your mistakes, you kind of forget what it is to have lasting consequences. And we all know I’ve never been good at thinkin’ before I act.”

“Speak for yourself,” White dismissed.

“Kinda was.” The traveler winced and pinched his brow. “ _Gol-ly,_ I think the fall made a milkshake of my migraine.”

Billy reveled at the chance for an out. “Here, I know — I’m gonna get you a cold wet towel, that always helps me.” He made a beeline for the guest bath, to get away from any questions.

But questions followed him.

“Hey,” White said, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey,” Billy said as he hunted for clean washcloths. “That was pretty scary, right?”

“Pretty _somethin’,_ alright,” White replied. The normal answer would be ‘what do you mean’, but Billy already knew. “He was really touchy-feely with you.”

“Yeah?” Billy took a towel to the sink. “Can you blame him after what he’s been through?”

“You reciprocated, like he was your lover or something.”

Billy loudly sighed and ran the tap. “He’s having a worse time than any of us, White. I’m trying to have empathetic bedside manner—”

“ _Oh sorry,_ Dr. Whalen, I didn’t realize you kiss the boo-boos of all your patients.”

“Like I didn’t _hand-feed_ you this morning.”

“That was different,” White interjected. “You didn’t do it all romantical.”

“Can you chill out?” Billy stared into the sink. “Seriously, I’m worried about him.”

“Why do you care so much —?”

“Because he's _you,”_ Billy said sharply, and then avoided White’s surprised gaze in the mirror. “I don’t want to fucking see you like that. Everything you’ve been through has been your fault; the mono, the hangovers, the drug withdrawals — it’s hubris. But I’ve never seen you just… suffering and trying to be brave. I’d rather see him throwing a pity party.”

“I’m brave all the time,” White said in ire.

“Really, White? One drink too many and it’s ‘Wehh, call the doctor — a real one,’” he mimicked, “I think I got internal bleedin’.”

“Oh so now you’re makin’ fun of the way I talk?” White flung out his arms. “What’s next — _what else_ can’t you stand about me?”

“That you can’t stop making it _about_ you for one minute.”

“Well, that’s kinda impossible when there’s _three_ of me,” he snarked back.

Billy wrung out the last cloth. “And somehow you’re still more useless than both of them.”

White took the wet towels from the counter. “I am _not useless_ ,” he hissed into Billy’s ear before leaving. Billy heard a quiver of hurt that left regret in his stomach.

Now he was alone. With no one to criticize but himself.

“OK, maybe that was a dick move,” Billy said to his reflection. “But White had it coming. He always does.”

_Right?_

Billy recalled that moment when long fingers moved through his hair, and the face that met him with charming banter. Like a whirlwind encounter with a stranger, but one who knew him more intimately than he could imagine.

And there was something about that _face._ He’d never seen a look like that — not in real life, not even in the movies. The greatest actors in history couldn’t fake such an expression. _Desperate adoration._ If a woman had gazed at him that way, his heart would've burst with joy.

It didn’t make sense. Even with the scar, that face should be too familiar to disarm him so profoundly. His roommate had never given him butterflies. Not to say a handsome man never made him a little flustered, but having White in his bed every night was more of a human comfort than a titillating experience.

The physical affection they performed in their strange domestic pantomime became easier with each day, but Billy could still separate himself from the role. And the White he knew could not fake those longing stares.

Billy exhaled and closed his eyes for a moment. It meant nothing. After yet another damn bathroom argument, it was more than likely just the shock of White being humble.

\---

White couldn’t pinpoint what upset him so much, except maybe everything. As usual, the only kind words out of his roommate’s mouth were part of a passive aggressive guilt trip — Yet Billy shared nothing but softness and understanding for the fucker who dragged them here. Typical hypocritical bullshit.

But in hindsight, what else could Billy do? Rip up their ticket home by slighting a guy who’d probably do anything for him?

Much easier to swallow than the alternative; that Billy liked this other White _better_.

It’d be best not to take out these frustrations on anyone else. He draped the towel over the forehead of his reclining twin, who kindly smiled and murmured a thanks. White wondered if he’d ever looked that warm to anyone. Maybe something had snapped in his brain long ago that made him incapable of attracting anything but contempt. So far, the only person who seemed to love him was Rose, but he suspected it was deeply conditional.

He settled into an armchair and tried his damndest to not look like a moping fool.

Billy returned to the main room, gaze searching for his ‘buddy’. Both exchanged darting looks of shame, and immediately made a psychic amends. Apologies after a spar were unnecessary. The words complicated things, when not stuck in the back of their throats. Not to say White wouldn’t revel in an admission that Billy _wasn’t_ the golden boy he so desperately wanted to be. But he pocketed that argument for another day.

William wrung his hands. “Billy, i-is there anything we could get from the compound? We discussed it and H.E.L.P.eR. is ready to fly over and bring whatever you need.”

“Well, come to think of it; I know in our world Rusty had a travel bag of surgical tools.” H.E.L.P.eR. reminded Billy that he had the apparatus built in. “Not so much the _bone-saws_ , but any IV equipment. I also need a blood sample for a general workup —”

Billy stepped back as H.E.L.P.eR. moved in to draw blood from the equally surprised traveler. Before anyone could formulate a response, a long sheet of paper printed from the robot’s mouth.

“Holy shit, that _is_ helpful,” Billy marveled as he read the diagnostic. “Why did no one ever tell me you could do that?”

“A robot full of blood is kinda icky, if you ask me” White said.

Billy again skimmed the list. “You got any sodium and chloride in there?” H.E.L.P.eR. shook his head. “Vitamin D?”

“I can supply the chemicals,” William said, and Billy studied him. “Didn’t I tell you I have an in-home lab?”

“Show me. The sooner I prepare the solution, the better,” Billy said, and William swiftly led him upstairs.

After a stern but incomprehensible safety lecture, H.E.L.P.eR. flew away from the patio, leaving the triplets to stew in an awkward silence. White felt himself dozing off now that his adrenaline had settled.

Peter cleared his throat, waking him up. “What a miserable lot we are, eh?” The traveler drew the duvet up over his head. “I got a stress headache the size of Texas, but I guess I shouldn’t complain when you two are so…” He trailed off again, as if baffled by his failure to light up a room.

The traveler peeked over the blanket. “Hey, not to be high maintenance, but is there a darker place I could nap at?”

“We got the guest room,” Peter said, gesturing to the hall.

“Nah, that’s _their_ safe zone. I don’t wanna intrude.”

“Well I usually nap downstairs in my man cave —”

“Perfect,” the traveler said and struggled upward.

“Hey, no —” White ordered, “You lie back down, buddy.” The traveler did not obey and got to his feet. “Billy would have a conniption if he saw this,” he warned. The traveler wrapped the cover around himself and began slinking to the stairway.

Peter followed. “Listen, you stop this nonsense before you trip and fall again —”

Their captive twisted towards him with arms outstretched. “What’re you gonna do, paradox me?”

“No, d-don’t — !” Peter hopped back in a panic. _“Fuck_ — We should’ve never sent H.E.L.P.eR. away!”

White placed himself between them. “C’mon. He wouldn’t do that.”

“I will if you try grabbin’ me again,” the traveler replied. White continued staring him down as Peter cowered. He would be the brave one, even if Billy couldn’t see it. “I’m tired of being ordered around and treated like a criminal.”

“Then don’t give us a reason to treat you that way. You’re here threatening us now.”

“If people start treatin’ me like a problem, maybe I _will_ be the problem, right?” he snapped, eyes watering. “You know it well. We all do.”

“I also know you wouldn’t hurt Billy like that,” White said, and the traveler pulled the duvet back around him like a cocoon of shame. “You love him even if he ain’t yours.”

“I wouldn’t hurt us on purpose,” he mumbled. “Honest.” He lifted his head, looking more pitiful than ever. “But you guys gotta remember I could go thermonuclear on skin contact. I need a little more length in the leash, so can I please just… _go downstairs?”_

Peter swallowed. “Only if you let us keep an eye on you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” the traveler moaned and continued on his way.

The other two followed cautiously, like a tense walk through a minefield. Once downstairs, the traveler spied a beanbag chair and dropped into it.

“ _That’s_ where you wanna lay your weary head?” Peter asked. “I got the sofa made up, see?”

“Dude, do you remember the one in Rust’s dorm room?” the traveler said into it. “Remember gettin’ real high and napping in it? That was the life.”

Peter’s shoulders drooped. “Huh. I forgot about that. The before times.”

“Oh, right,” the traveler said and rolled onto his back. “You’re being a big baby about somethin’.”

“I am being a big _adult_ about it,” Peter bristled. “Rust’s the one bein’ the baby —”

“Ah, see!” White said to Peter. “What’d I say last night? He’s an instigator.”

“Sorry for doubtin’ you, buddy,” Peter replied and perched on his rattan with a huff. “Now my nerves are all shot — Where’d I put my pen.” He searched in the side drawer. “I’m expecting a call from my agent today; I gotta mellow out.”

“You’re gonna get high before a meeting?” the traveler chided.

“Don’t go puritan on me, you all know controlled substances is the only way we graduated college.”

“Also why we flunked Professor Impossible’s class,” the traveler added.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Uh, for all you know I got an A.”

“There’s no universe where we got A’s.”

White rested on the napping couch. “Can I have a hit next? It’s been too long since I had a good weed nap.”

The traveler stared back as Peter passed it. “Wait, are you guys swappin’ otherworldly germs, like this is a chicken pox party? You’re not just thin-skinned, you’re pea-brained too.”

“Insult us again and I’ll spit in your mouth,” Peter threatened.

“OK, enough,” White ordered. His doubles’ bickering scraped like knives. “We’re all exhausted, I get it. But there’s no use comin’ to blows like this.”

“You’re right,” Peter said. “We’re all on the same team. We all got the same goal.” He held up a finger. “And _I_ got a life I can’t put indefinitely on hold. Because if 48 hours ago I knew _this_ would be happening, then I probably wouldn’t have tried resuscitating my flatlining career.” He grew agitated. “Here I was, thinkin’ maybe if I make Billy feel like I was pullin’ my weight again, things would get better — but now he’s gonna think I’m just putting my ego over an interdimensional crisis.”

“So…” the traveler started, “the marriage is —”

“The marriage is fine,” Peter interrupted. “He’s my parvenu.”

“The heck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ll love my husband till the day I die.”

He lifted a brow. “You don’t sound too happy about it.”

“ _Buddy,”_ White groaned. “Stop nosin’ around in our dirty laundry, alright? You tryin’ to solve our problems is what _got us_ in this situation.”

The traveler exhaled. “I apologize. Guess my nerves are shot too after havin’ another near death experience. Maybe I’m miffed that it didn’t off me.”

“Hey, Billy told me you weren’t suicidal,” White said.

“I don’t mean it like that — I just… I really thought I was being like… _called home_ ,” he said with a sarcastic wave of his hands. “I saw these flashes, like someone was reachin’ out… It was pretty spiritual, until it made me feel like I was on a tilt-a-whirl.” He blew air from his lips. “I heard voices, I heard my name. I assumed I was gonna see my Billy again.” He glanced at White. “Imagine my disappointment when the one starin’ back was _yours_.”

“Don’t go followin’ any more lights, y’got it?” Peter said, trying to dispel the cloud of sadness. “Even if the voices ask real nice.”

White took a long drag off the pen in hopes it might shut up the ones in his own head.

“Now _I_ got a stress headache the size of… Australia,” he grumbled.  
\---

Even though Billy enjoyed the structure of his commute to VenTech, every scientist dreamed of a custom-built lab at home. This one lacked the futuristic flair of what he was used to, William going for an antique look with darker woods and parquet tile. It appealed more to Billy’s own tastes — ones that he hadn’t been fully aware of until this moment. His trip to an alternate universe had become a bizarre exercise in learning things about himself he’d never examined. Though, not all of them were good.

“What kind of shit _do_ you get up to in here?” Billy gawked. He couldn’t recognize half the machinery.

“Oh, whatever strikes my fancy,” William said, like he was a painter rather than a scientist. “Sometimes I dream up a wild idea at 4am and jump out of bed to realize it.”

“You’ve really got it made,” Billy sighed.

“Pros and Cons.” William frowned. “Con: my husband doesn’t like when I disturb his beauty sleep, or smell like chemicals when I come back to bed, or _whatever_. He won’t acknowledge that without my lab he wouldn’t have his tanner, his custom sunblock, his energy pills —”

“Is that last one code for whatever drug is making yours tolerable?”

“Stop that; my Peter is a mess too.” William opened a drawer. “Now if you want, I can help you make a little pill for the new guy.”

“You’re running an underground pharmaceutical operation?” Billy quipped. “Dunno if that’s legal.”

“It’s just supplements. And sometimes things I’m too tired to get refilled,” William said meekly. “Don’t judge me.”

“Don’t worry, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. White and I infuse antidepressants into breakfast burritos.”

William pulled out a leather-bound notebook and flipped to a marked page. “I know I’m not a doctor, but over the years I’ve fine-tuned a panacea that keeps him in shipshape. We can tweak it for additional needs.” He handed it to his double, who examined it with a physician’s eye. “Nothing problematic, mind you, though I do have him on a mild stimulant. Just a little coffee buzz. Before I got a hold of him, he had a substance problem.”

“Don’t see anything concerning,” Billy mused as he studied the ingredients. “Either way, now we have two Whites off their meds, so I guess it’s for the best in the long run.” He glanced up. “By the way, if I’m here longer for a week, I’m gonna need to borrow a spare anti-seizure.”

“Oh I got that fixed like ten years ago.” William poked at the side of his head. “If you look hard, you can still see the scar.”

“God I want your life. I can’t perform neurosurgery on _myself.”_

“I could probably synthesize something for you too.” He held up a jar from a rack. “But first, I think I’ll sprinkle in a little of this for vitality.”

Billy snatched it from Williams grasp. “Uh, don’t add that. Unless you want to give a former addict _meth.”_

William flashed a nervous smile. “How do you know how to make meth?”

“It’s not like I’ve made it,” Billy clarified, a bit embarrassed. “But while I learned how to do surgery via the dark web, I read up on a lot of shit in case White and I needed to break bad.”

“Who's the Dark Web?”

“Oh right, you guys don’t use the internet,” Billy said to himself.

“Well, _sometimes_ in the library,” William said, and then had a twinkle of morbid curiosity. “The government puts meth recipes up there?”

“I really don’t think I’ll have time to explain the internet as a public forum,” Billy replied. “But all things considered, a world without Facebook or climate change kinda sounds ideal.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Billy picked up another compound. “Here, substitute this instead — it’ll make it absorb into the bloodstream faster.”

William delicately added it into his mixture. “Y’know, we can’t compare _every_ difference in our world, but I’m sure there are horrible travesties that happened here that you couldn’t imagine.” He turned on one of the test tube spinners. “Like, you didn’t have to sit through Peter’s bright idea for a variety show, and then smile as all your peers ridiculed you for dating such a dweeb.”

“Of all the things I’ve been ridiculed for, dating a vapid celebrity would be the least humiliating.”

“Every other scientist I know is married to someone with a doctorate.” He leaned onto the counter in a resentful manner. “I’m the only one married to a fucking bimbo.”

“There are worse things in life.”

“That’s true. Now we know we could be dead,” William said, gazing off to the side like he was taunting Peter directly.

“I guess death is the only thing worse than being married to Pete White,” he joked, but William didn’t respond. Billy tapped his pen in thought. “Are you two going through a rough patch?”

“No! No, no, no,” he said hurriedly. “I mean, maybe I _thought_ we were, but then I see you and…” William cringed and backtracked. “Not that I think there's anything _wrong_ with you.”

“There's plenty wrong, but continue.”

“I just —” He bit his lip. “I’d rather be at odds with him and married, than be at odds with him and not.”

Billy wrote a few equations down on his diagnostic sheet. “Is there more to it than his paranoia about you leaving him?”

“It’s just hit a critical peak, that’s all,” William dismissed. “I think after all this we’ll really have a new perspective on life. We'll level out again.” He shrugged. “We’ve already lasted longer than most celebrities, and I knew he was a pain when I married him. I’ve just been... traveling more now that I’m touring this new drone Venture Industries contracted. And he doesn’t like when I’m away too long.”

“You guys said his career is on pause. He can’t travel with you?”

“Well, it's not just _that._ He doesn’t like my colleagues either. Some are philanderers, have checkered pasts, but I believe in forgiveness. Peter, not so much.”

“OK, well there’s got to be some reason why he thinks you’d also have an affair.”

His double looked insulted. “You’re really insinuating I’d cheat on my husband?”

“No. I get more than anyone that your feelings for Rusty are platonic.”

William swallowed. “Like Peter said… Ventures have a reputation. A false one, but a reputation nonetheless.”

“So he’s slutty like his dad,” Billy said casually. “What does any of that have to do with you?”

“Well, for one; I now have you to thank for revealing my potential parentage to my Venture-hating husband.” William’s brow furrowed. “Billy, I knew mom had a past in showbiz, but if Jonas Venture is our dad, you have to tell me.”

“Why?” Billy said, a bit more hostile than intended. “Why do you even care who dad is? He abandoned us. If you really wanna know that much, do a DNA test.”

“Well. Perhaps I will,” he replied, matching Billy’s tone. “Otherwise my husband’s gonna think I have the ‘Venture Sleeping Around Genes’. He’ll never trust me there or anywhere again.”

“Uh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Billy scoffed. “I mean, if you were a Venture, that’d make Rusty your older brother.”

William’s eyes widened. “Oh. Then that’s a dodged bullet.”

“A what?” Billy blurted.

“Hypothetically!” William squeaked. “Like, in a universe where Peter and I never met, and Rusty swept me off my feet somehow. Nothing’s impossible, apparently.” He shrugged, seeming flustered. “But I mean, if I was operating under an incestual paranoia, I wouldn’t have even dated my first girlfriend.” Billy stared back in confusion. “She was a redhead,” William explained.

“No disrespect to your husband, but I’m extremely jealous of your love life.”

“And I told you, it’s… it was a lot of hollow years,” he said softly. “If you’ve never had a woman leave you and then spent months building yourself back up, wondering if it was over something you can’t control… then you’ve never known heartbreak.”

“Better to have loved and lost, if you ask me.”

“Ask the new guy.”

“I did. Kinda. Well, I think he kind of dumped it on me,” he muttered. William went quiet. “Do you have Valproic acid, or any GABA agents?” Billy asked, trying to change the subject. His double nodded and showed him a medical refrigerator.

William stiffly tried to make amends. “All I meant is… the grass is always greener.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m kinda jealous of your life.”

“Don’t,” Billy warned. “Don’t coddle me, OK?”

“I’m not,” William said, waving his hands. “I’m being totally sincere.”

Billy looked up from the vials. “There isn’t a goddamn thing in my life that would be better than yours.”

“You… have mom,” William said, and Billy felt guilty again. “Team Venture is like a family to you.” It was becoming clear that being a beloved figure had isolated his doppelganger. “It’s a shame the compound burnt down, but last night I was imagining a life in New York, doing science every day with Rusty and Peter… A relationship where the three of us can be friends. That sounds nice.” He sighed. “That’s what I thought my life would be like.”

Billy’s gaze scanned this beautiful lab that in another life was his and his alone. But perhaps that _was_ the problem.

“So if we repair their relationship, and you three are friends, you’ll have everything.” He glanced at William with a blank expression. “If we can fix that, I want one mil in cash so I can have a good life.”

William gave a soft laugh and shook his head. “Money isn’t happiness, Billy.”

“You’re right. But security is. Comfort is.” He placed his vials next to the mixer. “I didn’t want to be maimed, I didn’t want to suffer or be used by people — I’m not a better person after those things, I’m just bruised and bitter.” Billy sulked as he tried to collect his thoughts. “I always told myself that I was put on a path for a reason, that I had to keep my outlook humble and be realistic about what I could have in life. But now I feel like this all is a big ‘fuck you’ from the universe.”

“But don’t you think you _could_ have this?”

“Not when my world’s Rusty is a mess, and single, and still light-years ahead of me,” Billy said emphatically. “He has a rooftop penthouse. I have a spare room at my mom’s boyfriend’s coworker’s place — a room I have to share with someone I pretend is my soulmate.”

William took his hand, which caught him off guard. “We’re all worth something, Billy,” his double whispered. “In every universe — even if we’re flipping burgers and coming home to an apartment full of roaches, who we are is important and we deserve to be loved for it.”

“That’s… nice, but also easy for you to say.” He drew his hand away awkwardly. “I’ve learned not to believe pretty words from celebrities.”

“OK, but speaking as a guy who is you… we’re 38, we’re not _dead.”_ They both winced at the phrasing.

“Now I’m just hoping I _see_ 40.”

“A-Anyway… You said it yourself — you two don’t put yourself out there because of your, uh, living situation.” William pursed his lips. “Unless you… don’t have room in your heart for anyone else.”

“White and I are just busy trying to find stability,” Billy answered, not wanting to further dent his self-esteem. “My life got so derailed, I feel like we’re both just now learning how to be functional adults.”

“Billy, for what it’s worth, I think you have more poise and patience than I do.”

“It’s called trauma,” Billy said bluntly. “I’ll trade you.”

“My life hasn’t been cake either,” William said, his voice tired. Maybe it was a fancier cake, but for all Billy knew it tasted awful.

“Unlike you, I still need to get my shit together,” he admitted. “I want to be a good partner, whether it’s to a girlfriend or to my roommate.” Billy exhaled. “But I wish I knew where I’m supposed to be or what I should even be trying to achieve.”

William smiled. “You know, everything you said is exactly where I was at.”

“Please end that sentence with _‘right before I got rich and famous’._ ”

“No, that was way before,” William laughed. “But you might like this better. It was that... ‘moment’ you were so upset about missing.” Billy looked up with a jolt. Even he wasn’t sure why he cared so much, other than his own inexperience. “I was trying so hard to stay grounded and not get hurt, I… couldn’t see the forest for the trees.”

Billy stared with trepidation. “I… I realize I’m prying a lot—”

“Which is understandable considering the circumstances,” William assured.

“— but I gotta know what I’m supposed to be looking for. That… secret that you’re all clued into.”

William took a deep breath and smiled. “Now that I think about it, I don’t think I told anyone about that New Years Eve, but… it might as well be you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title comes from the B-Side of the self-titled Baccara album. Am I saying that I made a narrative choice based on a disco record? ... Maybe. IDK if this chapter is a bummer, (my partner was like "is this chapter what you meant when you were worrying about being mean" and I screamed), but I can tell you that your holiday gift is cuter.
> 
> Yes, that's right: I'll have a new flashback chapter on December 30th so you all can have something fun for New Years Eve!
> 
> Thanks again for all of your support -- also look at this [wonderful fanart](https://jaboncito.tumblr.com/post/635617075501678592/some-stuff-i-drew-while-reading-this-very-good-vb) of this silly fic. I just stare at it sometimes.


	15. Party Like It's 1999

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Hey, look at us. Who would've thought? Not me!  
> 15 chapters??? Like 80k??? This one is 9k, please enjoy it. I've never had a good NYE as an adult, but I vividly remember the lead up to Y2K feeling like the apocalypse so this was really fun to reflect on.
> 
> CWs: Non-explicit sexual content, stuff relating to homophobia / being closeted, self-esteem issues, drinking / smoking, descriptions of an injury.

**Universe 2, December 31st, 1999**

It’d been five months since their first kiss by the ocean. Five months since Peter once again plucked William out of obscurity, and ushered him into a world even more glamorous than before.

Due to the long distance of their ‘relationship’, the host pulled strings and they appeared on a few shows together. They capitalized on Peter’s charming airhead persona to play off William’s novel intellect, drumming up new fame as a duo. Best friends who were polar opposites, and the public ate it up.

All the while they kept the new nature of their relationship undercover, trying to hide the intent behind their banter. There were carefully choreographed plans, sneaking around to steal kisses backstage and meeting up in hotel rooms. It was terrifying and exhilarating… even though neither of them really had the words to describe what ‘it’ was.

They weren’t dating per se. Nor was it a fling. But deep down William knew it couldn’t possibly work. This wasn’t just any man, this was _Peter White_. He had a career as a face, a personality in the public eye, still fashioning himself as an eligible bachelor of sorts. He didn’t need yet another dirty secret, one that couldn't be hidden under makeup.

There was a knock at William’s hotel door. Speaking of secrets; Peter was oddly skilled at disguises.

“What’s cookin’, good-lookin’?” Peter greeted as he pushed his way into the room.

“Uh, no, what is _this_ look?” William said, stifling a laugh. He couldn’t tell if Peter was being serious in his multiple scarves and oversized fedora.

“I dunno. I went for like a Johnny Depp thing this time.”

“You look like Steven Tyler’s grandmother.”

“In a weirdly fuckable way?” Peter simpered.

“ _God no_.”

“Well, no one recognized me.” Peter opened a suitcase and began undressing.

“Can’t say the same,” William griped. “The lady at the front desk was a super fan.”

“Did she want you to sign her tits?”

“That was _one time,”_ William said. Peter threw the costume wig onto the bed and freed his natural tresses. “You know, hair dye isn’t expensive,” he added.

“Yeah, but I hate that blue sheen. It _screams_ fake, and I’ve got pretty good at hidin’ my lace-fronts.”

“I could make something for you,” William offered. “I have a chemistry degree, along with all the others.”

Peter shrugged noncommittally. “I mean, if you want.”

“Where are you staying?” William asked.

“Not the Colorado Springs Holiday Inn, that’s for sure,” Peter said, sneering at the tacky wallpaper.

“So another 4-star?”

“I accept nothin’ less.”

The man had too much money to burn now that his career had rekindled. Though William enjoyed having someone to shower him with gifts, it was another reminder that this couldn’t last.

Peter appeared in front of him with a scowl, snapping William out of his thoughts. “Why ya holdin’ out on me?”

“I’m what?”

“You’re bein’ aloof. Where’s my sugar?”

_Oh right_. This was a ‘sugar daddy’ situation, wasn’t it? William was likely one of many over the years, with the simple — yet flattering — distinction of being the first man.

Still, he smiled. “You need to come get it ‘cause I don’t have a ladder.”

Peter kissed him and then attempted to push him backwards, further onto the bed.

“ _Stop_ ,” William giggled. Peter clasped something metal over his wrist. “That better not be handcuffs.” He glanced over and lost his breath.

It was a millennium edition Oxler watch, in stunning blue and gold. William lost his breath.

“Because I missed Christmas,” Peter said.

It felt too heavy, too expensive, undeserved. Like a parting gift. “White…”

“Pete,” he corrected.

“ _Peter._ I don't need gifts. I just want _you_ ,” he said softly.

“Oh. In that case.” Peter started unbuttoning William's suit.

William tried to slap the hands away. “We don’t have time.”

“I can be quick.”

“That’s not romantic,” William protested, but relented when the kisses moved under his shirt collar.

This couldn’t last. But goddamn, he wished it would.

\---

William watched as desert replaced the buildings, leading to a winding mountain road. Their limo passed a dilapidated billboard for a housing development that never saw fruition. Something hit the pit of his stomach, disheartened by how halcyon dreams rarely work out, even with all the money and planning in the world.

He turned back to his date. “So where _are_ we going?” he asked. “I can’t picture the literal party of the century happening in rural Colorado.”

Peter’s brow lifted. “Why’s that?”

“It's lacking the glitz,” William said. “Aspen, _maybe_ , but you didn’t tell me to pack for a ski resort.”

“Don’t you think people with private jets might like to celebrate the millennium _away_ from the eyes of commoners?”

“I guess. But personally, I’d…” William glanced over to make sure the driver's partition was closed. “I’d rather ring it in with you. Away from eyes in general.”

Peter gave a soft laugh. “Nah, nah, you’ll get a real kick out of this one, I swear on my life.”

“What do they even have in Colorado Springs? The only place that comes to mind is like, the Venture Compound.”

Peter turned to him mischievously. “Oh, so you know it?”

William’s jaw dropped. “For real? W-We’re going to Rusty Venture’s New Years Party?”

“Knew that’d excite ya.”

He clutched Peter's knee. “H-How, I—”

“He's my best friend,” Peter bragged. William stared back, unsure if this was another tall-tale. “Ask him yourself! He’s the reason I got that cool car at home.”

“You never told me that.”

“ _Pshh_ —” Peter batted his hand — “I didn’t want you to think you had competition.”

William’s head swam. “Wow, fame really gets you everything.”

“Nah, we went to college together.”

He clutched harder. “You never told me _that_ either.”

“Oh, y’know. Livin’ in the past ain’t my style. And I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “I'm going to meet my idol.”

\---

“Oh my god, I'm going to meet my idol,” William groaned as he quaked with nerves. The last place he ever expected to be in life was the Ventures’ famous living room, and his date gave him no time to prepare.

“You can do this,” Peter said. “It's just Rusty — he's a big uncool nerd. Besides, you already charmed the pants off _me_.” He nudged William. “C’mon, drink up your liquid courage and let me do the talking.”

William downed the rest of his glass and gave a nod. “I can do this,” he whispered. “I beat the Million Dollar Match, I can small-talk with Rusty Venture.”

There was a break in conversations and Peter swooped in, dragging William by the arm.

“ _Hey Rust_ ,” he sang, and Venture did a double take. “Long time no see.”

“White?” Venture seemed genuinely puzzled. “Color me impressed, I didn't expect you to show.”

“C'mon, what's more fitting than to ring in the year with a buncha eggheads scramblin’ their yolks over Y2K.”

Venture adjusted his glasses. “Yes, well, I assume that computer science degree went to waste then, because that bug is a myth.” He rolled his eyes, which noticed Peter’s plus one. “Ah. And it’s nice to finally meet you, William. I’m Thaddeus Venture.” He held out his hand, which William shook with shock.

“Y-You know who I am?”

“You don't think we watch television?” Venture asked incredulously. “My boys keep chattering on about trivia, I had to buy them _each_ a copy of Encarta ‘98 for Christmas.”

William’s voice trembled. “Sir, it's an honor — I am your biggest fan.”

“I hear that a lot.”

“Sure,” Peter interjected, “but he's not kissin’ ass. He really has a crush on you.”

Venture’s brow raised. “Oh?”

“He's being a dick,” William hastily replied, unsure why his secret lover was playing chicken with his homosexuality. “But I do own all the memorabilia.”

“Oh, I just love to track the prices on the internet,” Venture mused.

“You have internet access? Like NASA?” William asked, and Venture nodded. “That’s incredible.”

“What’s even _more_ incredible is what people will shell out for cheap plastic crap.”

Peter ruffled William’s hair, who promptly pat it back down. “I’ll get you another drink, fella. Meanwhile, please, yap about your nerd shit.” He stared down his former classmate. “ _Indulge him_ , Rust.”

A nervous laugh escaped William’s chest and he battled to keep from being too star-struck.

“Now, now, isn’t this _strange_ ,” Venture said while watching Peter leave. “What's his angle? Did he lose a bet?”

“Pardon?”

Venture narrowed his eyes. “Ever since he got famous, I hardly see him. And when I have, it's not without a hot little piece he paid to hang on his arm.”

“I, well —” William felt the weight of the luxury watch on his wrist. “He wanted me to be his plus one so I could meet like-minded people.”

“White doing something selfless for another?” Venture said in flat disbelief. “ _Oh._ ” His eyes widened. “Oh I _see_. William, if he hasn’t already, he's trying to get you into his bed.”

The accusation struck William with panic. He stammered out words like “No” and “He’s friend”.

Dr. Venture let out a cackle. “You should've seen your face — _aaaaaah_ , you looked _mortified._ No.” He lightly waved a hand. “No, don't worry. White _has_ always been on the effeminate side, but deep down he's a slobbering dog.” He craned his neck, peering around the crowd. “Twenty bucks says he dropped you off with me so he could chase a skirt.”

“Y-You don’t think he’d do that, do you?” William asked meekly, feeling inevitably replaceable.

“It’s not like you’re his date,” Venture said, as if it were obvious. “Besides, he needs to scope out a kiss for midnight.”

“Oh. Right. That’s a thing.”

“Don't get so down, good doctor. I realize the dateless women here are few and far between, but I could _reserve_ a pretty one for you if you’re shy.”

“No, I… I definitely have game.” He recalled all the sweet things Peter had said to him over the past months and smiled wistfully. “I’ve been told I’ve got the kind of charm that makes people break type.”

“Ah,” Venture smirked. “I get what you mean.” He placed a finger demurely against his chin. “Red-headed child stars like us learn quick that it’s survival of the cutest.” They both laughed, the ice successfully broken.

Several minutes passed. Possibly more as William lost track of time, swept up in the company of the boy — now man — who inspired his childhood dreams of glory. And Rusty Venture appeared to enjoy himself as well, clearly finding few chances to reminisce about his youth.

“And you know,” Venture said after a lengthy yarn, “maybe someday I _will_ finish that musical.”

“I for one would be in the front row,” William said.

Venture gave a haughty chortle. “Dear William, you're just as charming off screen as on. Now I know how White must feel.” He again glanced at the party. “Though, the bar’s gotta be swamped if he’s really coming back for you.”

“He’s not very focused,” William said. “I mean, not that he’d leave me for someone else — Not that he’d intentionally ditch me,” he corrected. “He just gets distracted by shiny objects.”

Dr. Venture sipped his own drink. “I know you two cross paths in your careers, but I guess it’s rather sweet that White’s grown this fond of you. That said, what in the world do _you_ see in him?”

William swallowed the truth, unable to talk about Peter’s smile, or the way he flipped his hair when embarrassed. The things murmured between kisses, or how his long nails felt running down his back.

He reflected on their platonic days, when their love — though not physical — was still nourishing. “His bizarre confidence that everything will always work out in the end.”

“That’s certainly accurate.” Dr. Venture sighed. “I resented him a little. He seems to skate on by with minimal effort. He's naturally talented, follows his hobbies, _barely_ has to try. But, he liked me back when I was an awkward loser so… I'd be remiss to hold a grudge.”

“Resent him? But you're a super scientist and he's a TV host.”

“My path was set for me, and I had to work every day of my life not to fall off of the tightrope of expectation,” Venture said with a tinge of bitterness. “Then again, I think his father disowned him, so I don't have much to complain about.”

“My mom never told me who my father was.” He’d hardly spoken to her these past months, finding it difficult to lie. “I guess I looked up to yours.”

Dr. Venture smiled. “Would you like to see a room I keep _very private_?”

\---

Peter downed his last shot at the wet-bar before picking up William’s rum punch. “It was real nice to see you again, Leslie, but I think it's time I rescue Rust from my wingman.”

“Why would a star like you need a wingman?” his former schoolmate asked.

“Listen, time keeps tickin’ and we aren't all happily married to our college sweethearts. Most of us didn't even date.”

Mike Sorayama grinned. “That's because you didn't have a spray tan yet.”

“Keep it down,” Peter hissed.

“Really, Snow White,” Leslie teased, “would this even be your natural color?” She drunkenly thumbed at Peter’s cheek.

“You never met my parents, didja?”

“Where's your friend?” Mike asked. “Bring Dr. Whalen over; I'd like to meet _him_. My students will be so jealous.”

“Maybe I could set you two up with some of my colleagues,” Leslie offered. “You need kisses for midnight, right?”

“Don't worry about that," Peter said. "Anyway, he's over, uh…” He squinted over the crowd. “Oh. Crap, I dunno. He's pretty short, but I don't even see Rust.”

“Well, you know where to find me and Dr. Newly Tenured Professor when you do,” Leslie said.

“Uh huh,” he said, mind already elsewhere.

Peter pushed his way through the familiar corridors and rooms, searching for any sign of his date. The compound had grown more packed with bodies as the midnight hour drew nearer, and the party host likely became indisposed. Someone bumped into him, spilling William's drink onto Peter’s hand and shoes.

“Well, fuck me,” he muttered to himself. So much for trying to be a nice guy. He attempted entry into the upstairs bathroom, but a female voice told him it was occupied. In fact, it sounded like multiple people were inside.

After a futile search, Peter decided to cut his losses, wait back at the bar in case his date went looking for him. Mike's overfriendly personality might disarm the guy enough to save Peter from a scolding. But first he’d check the kitchen one last time after washing his hands.

“You seen a ginger yay-high?” Peter gestured to the room. “Anyone? The smartass from TV? He’s hard to forget.”

“Oh, yeah, I saw him,” said a gruff voice that made him jump. He spun around expecting someone towering, and yet she stood a head beneath him, smiling like she too had a secret. “He ran off with Mr. and Mrs. Venture to the master bedroom. I don’t think you should disturb them.”

“Excuse me?” Peter’s fists clenched. “They _what?_ ”

“Oh _honey_ , you realize where you are, right? This place has been a notorious swingers pad since like the 60s.”

“Then I gotta go—”

“No you don’t—” She grasped his sleeve, but he tugged away. “ _Gary_ , can you stop this square?” she called.

Before Peter could think, he collided into the soft chest of a bulky punk that resembled a young Glenn Danzig. He wore a tuxedo-print tee that clashed with the women's dazzling winter ensemble, a flannel tied around his waist.

“What, did he try something?” Gary asked, glaring at Peter.

“No, he’s trying to cock-block that game show nerd for some reason.”

“Dude, not cool.” Gary’s scowl slipped away. “Oh my God, Sheels, isn’t this the game show guy!”

“What are you talking about?” she asked. “The kid’s like three feet tall!”

“The one who went to your college! With the radio show!”

She gasped. “Oh. My. God. I _knew_ that voice rang a bell — You…” She pointed a finger, “You look different than I thought you did — I mean I know it was the 80s, but did you change your hair or—”

“Listen,” Peter interjected, “I’d love to stay and chat with a State alumni, but I gotta—”

“Why?” Gary blocked him again. “Isn’t he like your buddy or something? Don’t be a dick, let him have this.”

The woman nodded. “Yeah, Mrs. V is hot, even _I’m_ envious.”

“Yeah, well she used to be _Mrs. P,_ until Rusty had a certain party,” Peter said, growing agitated. “Billy must be drunk; that’s dubious consent —” His voice creaked with desperation: “ _He wouldn’t do this to me_.”

“Dude, are you that jealous?” Gary snickered. “Like, aren’t you a celebrity—”

“Gare-Bear,” she said under her breath. “I think this is a _monogamy_ issue.”

“Oh shit, a-are you two…”

Peter felt cornered. “Look, it’s—”

She patted his arm. “Go get your man, sweetie, I’m sure there’s an explanation for all of this.”

As Peter forced his way through the crowd to the upstairs, his mind raced with everything he could lose. Someone intelligent yet starry-eyed, a romantic who believed in the sanctity of pinky promises and taking secrets to the grave. A true friend who could make him laugh and call him on his bullshit, all in one breath. William kept him grounded, made him feel safe, but most importantly, was always up for fun.

Peter pounded on the bedroom door. There were voices again, and he remembered the master connected to the bathroom he’d tried to enter. He attempted to pry the door in a panic, but someone finally jostled the latch. As it swung open, he saw the last thing he needed.

Rusty Venture, wearing nothing but underwear and an open robe.

“What? _White?_ ” Venture balked.

“Where’s your clothes?” Peter demanded.

Dr. Venture glanced down and closed his robe. “Oh. I was showing your friend a good time, and then he got so excited he broke a wine glass with his grip — Got it _all over_ my party suit—”

Peter pushed the other man aside and saw William sitting on the bed, as Mrs. Venture wrapped his hand.

“What’s the big idea?” Dr. Venture demanded. “You can’t barge into a man’s bedroom and knock him around.”

“I, uh.” Peter’s eyes darted about. “Someone said he came up here with your wife. I was tryin’ to uh…”

“Catch me in the act?” she asked.

“Fight for my honor?” Dr. Venture asked.

William peered at him with skepticism. “You think I would make a pass at my childhood hero’s wife? C’mon, do you even know me?”

Peter gave a sheepish laugh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I dunno. I’ve had a bit too much, maybe I’m losing it. Leslie kept pourin’ me shots.”

Dr. Venture seemed displeased. “Ah, she's still trying to get you drunk.”

“Who’s _Leslie?”_ William asked with audible jealousy.

“College friend,” Peter replied. “Don't worry about her.”

“I'm just returning the favor,” William said.

Dr. Venture arched his brow at White. He could feel himself blushing under his makeup.

“That should seal up the cut just fine,” Mrs. Venture said. “But remember it needs to set; don’t go spilling drinks for _at least_ an hour.”

“Sorry I panicked,” William said bashfully. “I am a ‘Doctor’, but not in the medical sense.”

She smiled. “The boys are remarkably _accident prone_. These things always bleed worse than they are.”

“And sorry, Dr. Venture,” William added.

“I should be grateful, I suppose,” he said. “It’s rare that anyone wants to see my childhood mementos, let alone be _that excited_ about them. Not even my own sons.”

Peter exhaled and recovered his carefree persona. “C'mon, Billy, I’m discharging you from the hospital. I got some friends who wanna meet ya downstairs. We can hit the catering spread and then the dance floor.”

William perked up and jumped off the bed. “I was a teen swing dancing champion, you know.”

“Oh, shame that White has two left feet,” Dr. Venture said.

“Funny,” Peter deadpanned. “Not like I choreographed a winning dance routine in college or anythin’,” he said, hoping it would impress William.

Dr. Venture crossed his arms. “We only won because _I dipped you.”_

“I can teach him a thing or two,” William said. “Not like I haven’t before,” he added, locking eyes with his date. William rarely made innuendo laden passes in mixed company, and Peter’s heart did a somersault. God-willing, this was an admission of a shared desire, though it still made him nervous as all hell.

He deflected. “There, you see — that’s why I keep you around,” Peter said, and William followed him into the hall.

“I hope that’s not the only reason,” William said.

“You don’t think I like the way you move?”

\---

_Three. Two. One._

“Happy Millennium!” the crowd shouted. Their rapturous celebration echoed off the marble lobby, people firing off poppers and singing.

The two sat away from the fray on a leather bench, happier to observe as a single pair after a long night of schmoozing and revelry with Peter’s old friends.

William smiled and turned to his date. “Well, Happy New Y—”

Peter cut him off with a kiss. William melted into it — until he heard a distant cackle. He pushed the man away in fear.

“What gives?” Peter snapped.

William's eyes darted around with panic. He was drunk, but not that drunk. Luckily guests were busy locking lips, or being shuffled to the courtyard for a fireworks show — but one couple on the outskirts had definitely met his terrified eye.

With clenched fists, he made his way outside with the rest of them. Peter’s footsteps followed behind. They stood at the edge of the group, watching the small fireworks display in charged silence, while everyone else hollered in awe. This New Year's was a historic celebration that happened every thousand years, in his childhood’s dream locale, yet the only emotion running through William’s mind was very adult fear.

It was one thing to spend your time pining, to want nothing more than to hold hands with someone gorgeous, to have confirmation that you’re the center of their world. But in practice, when factoring in every variable of what they could lose, he wondered if he was just destructively naïve.

The watch around his wrist now felt like a shackle attached to a sinking ship. They were one mistake from disaster, from heartbreak, from implosion. And if Peter White was faced with a choice, between William and everything, there was only one logical answer.

If this was going to end, William wanted it to fizzle out slowly, maybe part with a handshake. _It’s been fun, I’ll see you around._ Not a sudden Hindenburgian event that could tarnish the rest of their lives, preventing him from ever looking upon these past months in nostalgia.

When the brief show reached its finale, William stormed back into the compound, into the home itself, and only stopped once he found solitude at the far edge of the Ventures’ deserted pool patio.

“Billy, what the hell!” Peter called.

William spun around in exasperation. “Why’d you do that?”

“What?” Peter balked.

“Why did you kiss me?” he hissed. “In public?”

Peter stared at him incredulously. “It was _midnight_ , the fucking millennium, I wanted to kiss someone—”

“Lots of people would’ve kissed you—”

“I wasn’t gonna grab some girl and hurt your feelings.”

“Y-Your friends are here — _Colleagues_ — We could end up in a gossip rag with that!”

Peter scoffed. “I don’t care.”

William gawked back. “How drunk are you? _You could lose your friends, and even your job._ ”

“I don’t care,” Peter repeated indignantly. He shook his head. _“Jeez Louise, pally._ If you’re really that freaked out about it, we can say we were drunk as skunks and did it as a joke.” Inexplicably, Peter almost seemed hurt.

“I… I’m just looking out for you.”

“I’m not helpless, alright?” Peter drew in his arms and turned away.

“Alright,” William said with quiet confusion. He’d miscalculated just how invested Peter was in this.

The sliding door opened, and two figures walked out. William’s heart pounded, recognizing them as the couple from before.

The jig was up, and this romantic liaison no longer so covert.

“ _Jesus Christ,_ it’s cold out here,” the woman croaked, her large companion pulling on a flannel jacket in agreement. She lit up a cigarette and cautiously approached the other two guests. “Hey. So we meet again.”

“Hey. Sheila, was it?” Peter asked, and William’s gaze flittered between them.

“Yeah. Are you two lovebirds OK now?” she asked. “You kissed and made up?”

William waved his hands. “ _No_ — It wasn’t—”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Peter replied to William’s horror.

“ _Peter!_ ”

“He and I had a misunderstanding. See?” Peter pulled up William’s arm by the wrist. “He sliced his hand.”

“You know these people?” William asked.

“Apparently we went to the same college,” Peter said. “She uh, she was the one who told me about your lil visit to the Ventures’ boudoir.”

“I completely misread that situation, and I’m sorry.” She held out her hand to William. “I’m Sheila. This is my best friend and henchman, Gary.” He gave a wave.

“Henchman?” Peter asked. “You kids are supervillains?”

She blew out smoke. “Eh, we’re working on it. Not Guild certified yet, but we’re trying to branch out on our own.” Sheila smirked and put her hand on Gary’s chest. “I stole him from an ex-boyfriend.”

“He was kind of a dick.” Gary shrugged. “He kidnapped me.”

“Oh, well to be fair, I helped with that.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t appreciate you.”

“Very true.”

William turned to Peter. “So you… You told them about us.”

Peter grimaced. “I mean, they figured it out on their own.”

"Hard not to when he was _flipping out_ ," Sheila said.

William looked to them with fear. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Why would we?” Gary asked.

William blinked. “You’re… the bad guys.”

“Yeah, but like, we’re not bad _people_ ,” Gary said. “Like if we arched you, we wouldn’t put you at risk of hate crimes or call you slurs.”

“No, not good sportsmanship _at all,_ ” Sheila added.

Peter made a thoughtful sound. “Maybe I misjudged people like you. Rust told me real horror stories.”

“Oh, those were different times,” she said. “It’s all in the spirit of good fun. And anarchy.”

“Why hold grudges when you can have a monthly duel?” Gary said brightly.

“Anyhow, we just wanted to check in on you boys before we skedaddled. See if everything was copacetic.” She reached into her purse. “Here. Since I know your secret, here’s some collateral on me. It’s my private number, it’s only fair.”

Peter took it with a grin. “Guess if he and I ever break up, I got a rebound.”

Gary glared again, but Sheila playfully batted her hand. “Sweetie, I’m a supervillain. If you used that number to pick me up, you’d be dead in less than twelve hours.”

Peter laughed stiffly. “Good thing I’m a raging homosexual.”

“Speaking of raging,” Gary said, “if you ever need someone to set your car on fire, give us a ring.”

“Till then, we’ll see you two on the television,” Sheila said, and the villains turned heel to stroll along the grounds.

Peter watched in awe and then let out a soft chuckle. “Wow, there really are decent folk left in this world, huh?” He looked at his date. “Maybe that’s why people become villains. Like they think the good guys won’t stand up for misfits like us.”

William was less amused. “What does that say about our future if they’re the only ones we don’t have to hide from.”

Peter exhaled. “I won’t lose my job. I promise.” William released a nervous sigh. “It’s officially the 21st century. They got that new show, Will & Grace, it’s a hit. Besides, people already think I’m gay ‘cause I’m so unbelievably gorgeous.”

William gave a quick laugh. “Well. You are.” He fidgeted with the watch. “I’m sorry for blowing up on you. I was… scared.”

“It’s OK to be scared. What’s life anyway, except being scared shitless?”

“Uh, hopefully more.”

Peter smiled. “Let’s go back to the party. If we got two supervillains lookin’ out for us, we’ll be fine.”

If the man with the most to lose believed it could all work out, then William would try to have faith too. After all, wasn’t that what he admired most?

\---

The party dwindled after the fireworks, and the few stragglers remaining in the sitting room were the Ventures close friends. William found it surreal to be included in such company; his TV host lover, the greatest boy adventurer, a famed robotics pioneer, and a former Miss USA. Yet they all acted like he belonged there — Peter especially so, a bit intoxicated and squeezing William around the shoulder like they were old drinking buddies.

Dr. Venture kept an eye trained keenly on them, wheels turning as he sipped a cocktail. If this bachelor pad had truly held its rumored debauchery, then he’d likely seen surreptitious relationships of all sorts. Sweat dotted the back of William’s neck, like an imposter about to be exposed. Not a genuine celebrity, and definitely not straight.

All that alcohol was a mistake as his nervous stomach squirmed. He didn’t want to keep their romance secret if it hurt Peter’s feelings, but at the same time he’d never weighed the pros and cons of being _officially_ his boyfriend. Knowing Peter, he likely hadn’t as well.

Leslie flashed a moony smile at the pair. “White, I just wanna say, you’ve matured so much since I last saw you.” She sniffled, clearly a sentimental drunk. “Like, this is a really special night, and you could’ve done anything with anyone — And he’s the one you want to share it with, and you wanted to share him with _us_ , like… _that’s what friends do.”_

“He’s a ride-or-die kind of guy, y’know,” Peter said. “Not only is he a good time, you can trust him with your life.”

The sentiment was sweet, but he wished didn't make his ears so hot.

“Sorry, Rusty, but I think you’ve been replaced,” Mike laughed.

“Two can play that game,” Dr. Venture said, still eyeing him with curiosity. “Maybe William will become _my_ special friend.”

Peter snorted. “I’d like to see you try to take him.”

Dr. Venture whistled and pat his own knee like he was beckoning a puppy. “C’mon, William, show him which celebrity you _really_ love,” he teased.

William knew he was beet red with both flattery and fear.

“Rusty,” called another voice. The woman of the house, out of her party dress and into a Venture insignia'd robe. "Could you take it to the study or something? You know how the boys refuse to go to sleep if we have company.”

_Saved by bedtime._

Mike stood to apologize for staying so late, as did Leslie. Private cars were summoned and goodbyes exchanged. The tipsy beauty queen gifted everyone with a long hug, including William, but only after she wistfully clutched his face like she’d lost something. He wouldn’t ask what.

Once it was the secret couple’s turn to leave, Dr. Venture stopped William at the door for a parting handshake.

“William,” he said soberly. “Since you’re apparently my ‘biggest fan’, would you do me a solid?” William nodded in surprise. “You and I both know White is a… _unique_ person, and also his own worst enemy. He wouldn’t know a wise decision even if it wined and dined and screwed him… We’d all be grateful for having you around, keeping him in line.”

“Of course, sir,” William said, overly formal from nerves and what he worried were entendres.

Dr. Venture laughed. “Please. If you truly know the real Pete White, like I do, then you can call me Rusty.”

\---

As the alcohol wore off, the pain in William’s left palm returned. Luckily the injury didn't require stitches, but he’d have to clean it and re-dress it, and he was extremely squeamish. Such a phobia was silly for a thirty-year-old who dreamed of daring adventures. He'd had a childhood of gruesome surgeries, even bones purposely broken and reset, but momma bear could no longer help. No one but himself could clean his messes now, including the metaphorical ones.

Crushing a wine glass was embarrassingly preventable, and the consequences literally stung. Other near catastrophes were swirling in his mind; Peter’s brashness, outing himself to total strangers, dancing his ambiguous sexuality in front of his friends like it was a game. William feared he was also on the road to another humiliating moment, one he couldn’t simply bandage up.

How cruel for him to resent a queer man becoming comfortable in his truth... though, Rusty reiterated the importance of saving Peter from himself.

“You OK, pally?” Peter asked.

William glanced up at him, unsure how long he’d zoned out. Long enough for them to get back to the city, at least. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” he said reflexively.

“You just seem a little… distant.”

“Sorry.” He turned towards Peter to give his full attention. “I just have… a lot on my mind now, ever since uh…” He checked that the partition was still closed and lowered his voice. “The kiss.”

Peter smirked. “You know Rust was really tryin’ to make you come out.”

William exhaled, realizing he wasn’t just paranoid. “You were _not_ helping back there.”

“C’mon. Those are my college buddies!” Peter said like William was being unreasonable. “They never told no one that I’m an albino. If they supported me when they thought I was a closeted fruitcake, they’ll support me as an out fruitcake too.”

The celebrity was a thrill seeker, with a penchant for things that were bad for him. Maybe this relationship was another gateway drug on his journey — William the ride, rather than the destination.

“Even if everyone was… OK with you being gay… I dunno how they’d feel about you dating _me.”_

“Are you implying I have bad taste in men?” Peter rolled his eyes. “ _Gimme a break,_ I’m new to this.”

Sometimes the TV host couldn’t see past his own pretty face in the mirror. And sometimes it was better that way.

William tried to find the words. “I just meant…” Peter continued eyeing him like he expected an insult. “I’m not some random hunk you met in a bar.”

“Yeah, exactly. You’re famous, Billy,” Peter argued. “If they know who I am, they know who you are, so wouldn’t it make more sense if they’ve seen us together already?”

William bit his lip. “That’s… one way to look at it, I guess.”

Better than the idea that William had only met women because of his minor wealth. But then again, if Peter White had so much cash, then what was William? The world’s most unconventional gold digger?

Peter took a breath. “I know where I stand now, but… Are you worried about people thinking you like men?”

Somehow this conversation was more nerve-wracking than his first time with another man. “I... My mother is... She’s a great mom, she’s just…”

“Yeah.” Peter sighed. “Yeah, I know the type.”

William stared at his feet. “Besides, it’s not like... we’re…”

It remained unclear what they were, and William wasn't brave enough to ask.

The car slowed and rolled up to the curb of a grand hotel. “So, uh… this is me,” Peter said awkwardly.

“Goddamn,” William breathed, already gobsmacked by the chic exterior.

Peter turned to him. “Come up to the suite.”

“What? T-Together?”

“It’s New Year’s, no one will bat an eyelash,” Peter insisted. “They’ll think I’m throwing an after party. We’ll give ‘em a nice big bill to make it worth their while.”

William blinked, and Peter held out an expectant hand.

“You’re serious?” William asked.

“You said you wanted to spend time with me in private.” He shrugged. “And if you wanna stay for a _while_ , we’ll send for you bags and everything.”

“I’m… paying for that room, you know,” William said, trying his best not to be charmed into poor decisions.

Peter winked. “I’ll comp it.”

While his date tipped the driver, William reminded himself to act natural, as if he _wasn’t_ heading upstairs to sodomize a famous man. Or whatever they were going to do tonight after such tumultuous partying. He'd honestly feel satisfied just drinking champagne until he fell asleep on Peter’s lap. In their secrecy, they rarely had the luxury to linger.

The opulent lobby turned this caper even more intimidating, reminding him he didn’t fit into posh society. At least it laid virtually deserted, every waking occupant still celebrating in the connected bar and restaurant. No one wanted to end a once-in-a-lifetime party.

Once in the mirrored elevator, the two remained silent. William couldn’t spot a security camera, and thus presumed illicit affairs were commonplace here. The wealthy could afford to pay hush money like that. Which made him feel a little dirty, though… not in the worst way.

It was novel to be desired and objectified by someone so objectively desirable.

The doors opened and he gasped at how the suite matched the lobby in size and elegance.

“Holy cow. Did they make a mistake and give you the _royal chambers?”_ William said as they walked towards a sitting area. “Because this is obscene.”

“Get used to it, pally. You’re one of the beautiful people now.”

“I could never get used to this.” He looked around and spied a full dining hall across from the large bedroom. “No wonder they’ll think you’re throwing a party — You could raise a family of eight in here.”

“Eight?” He put a hand to his chest. “You want that many kids?”

“No. I…” William chuckled at the absurd thought.

“Hey…” Peter grabbed a small object from the coffee table, holding it out of sight behind his back. He brandished a disarmingly sly smile. “Think fast.” He threw something in William’s face, who recoiled in surprise. “Made ya flinch!”

“What the fuck? Rose petals?” William balked as he brushed them from his suit.

“Romantic, huh?” Peter cloyed.

“Absolutely _not,”_ William chortled. “You really don't have a romantic bone in your body.”

“Who doesn't get turned on by roses?”

“Me, to be frank.” He twisted one pensively in his fingertips. “They just remind me of my mother.”

“There's a weird complex.”

“It's her name,” he muttered. He’d only joined her for Christmas mass, saying work had taken up his time. But while he sat there as a literal sinner in church, he wasn’t sure when he could see her again, or if ever.

“I don’t think we could fit six kids in my place,” Peter mused, opening a bottle of wine left on the table. “Not even sure if I got the room to build you a lab.” He turned to William. “But when I build you a house, I’ll be sure to make it a friggin’ knockout.”

“You’re hilarious,” William deadpanned. “You didn’t even build your own house.”

“We’ll put low countertops in the kitchen,” Peter continued. “That way you can cook for me, and six kids.”

“I don’t want six kids!”

“And just when I was warmin’ up to the idea, you snatch the rug from under me.” He downed the glass of wine like it was water.

William rarely knew what to make of his friend’s comments. Along with the wigs and makeup, Peter wore a guise of sarcasm, aloofness, like he was afraid of vulnerability. Why a celebrity feared William’s rejection was beyond him. It should be the other way around.

But there was one answer, one William’s more quixotic side wanted to believe. Peter might not consider him just a ‘crush’, nor a ‘friend with benefits’, but the most sacred word in William’s vocabulary.

William's knees buckled, and he found refuge on the leather sofa. After standing all night, he needed to keep some stamina for… whatever.

Peter dropped his designer suit jacket onto a chair and stretched his arms. He stood at the window, admiring the glittering view of a snowy downtown. The occasional firework shot off in the distance, turning it all surreally picturesque.

“I gotta say, I’m feelin’ good about the future,” Peter said. “In a way I would’ve never believed possible half a year ago.” He shrugged. “Our careers are lookin’ up, we’re gettin’ numbers from hot supervillains. Of all the wild shit I've done over the years, none of it has been as fun as the times I've spent with you. So… I'm thinkin' the millennium will be bright.” He turned to William. “And I got you to thank for that.”

“I should be thanking you.”

Peter walked towards him with a frown. “Oh c’mon, don’t be so modest.”

“I'm being realistic.”

Peter pointed a finger. “You know your problem, Dr. Whalen? You’re afraid to think big.”

“Well I can only reach so high,” he deflected.

“Then stop fightin’ it and let me be that ladder.” Peter knelt down in front of William. “With my means and your ' _endless curiosity',”_ he said in a way that made it obviously a double entendre, “we could be unstoppable.”

William raised a brow. “Sounds like a proposal for villainy.”

“It was kind of a proposal,” Peter said and William looked away. The man must be joking — unless he wanted to move to Vermont. “ _Don't take it like that_ , fella, I'm not profiling you over supervillain stuff. Besides, we already got courted today, that's kinda proof people know we're on the up ‘n up.”

“They were almost more of a mismatched couple themselves,” William said sardonically.

“Yeah, I’m not sure he was even old enough to drink. But don’t knock datin’ a cougar until you try it.”

“That’s not what I meant exactly.”

To his surprise, Peter unlaced William’s shoes. “I dunno where you got the idea that I’m out of your league.” He pulled off the loafers and began massaging his feet. “If I was getting action in college, I wouldn't have worked so hard to become a sex symbol.”

“I didn't realize that was a career path.”

“It's not too late for you,” Peter said, eyeing him like he was an expensive meal.

William tried to offset his blush with an eye roll. “It’s not from a lack of trying.”

“You’re almost there.”

Sometimes William couldn’t believe that a man so beautiful could gaze at him that way. Or touch him like this. Peter’s attentive hands kneaded his calves, then further up to his knees. It remained to be seen if this was purely a selfless act for William’s troubled joints or foreplay.

“What do you want next?” Peter asked, still gazing at him.

“Uh. M-Maybe a glass of wine.”

Peter chuckled. “I’ll send for anything you want. Strippers, prime rib, weed, a bottle of champagne as big as you.”

“I don’t need you to spend more money on me,” Billy said, gesturing to his custom-fitted watch. “Otherwise I’m going to feel like I’m… drowning in debt to you.”

“Fine. We can go Dutch on some cable porn.”

He let out an abrupt laugh. “Romantic.”

“But first, I need a shower.” Peter stood and kissed him atop the head. “And you should come check it out too, it’s the most incredible one I’ve seen in my life.” William followed, his legs now looser than before. “If you’re really interested in becoming a sex god, nix this Carl Sagan thing.”

“I like my hair," William said, flattening it again. "It covers up my five-head.”

“You are _so vain,”_ Peter griped.

“I'm not the vain one.”

“You're dating the hottest guy on television; you're vain.”

William chuckled. “The hottest?”

Peter stopped in his tracks. “Who is hotter than me?”

“I plead the fifth,” he bantered.

“Whatever. All I’m sayin’ is when you take off your geek costume, you’re a hot ticket.” Peter mussed up the meticulously styled hair, and though William was thoroughly annoyed, it felt so damn good. “Maybe get some frosted tips.”

“I love you, but I’m not getting a boy band hair —” His voice dropped off in horror when he realized what had slipped out.

“Alright, have it your way, ya square.”

William’s mouth went dry. Though he was glad Peter didn’t make a big deal about the L-bomb, he also felt disappointed. How many others that Peter slept with said they loved him? Did the word mean anything anymore to a celebrity?

Worst of all, William had to acknowledge that he himself was in love for the first time, at the tender age of thirty.

“Fuck,” he whispered as they entered the bathroom.

Peter smiled. “Nice, eh?”

“Not exactly,” William mumbled. He cleared his throat and came up with an excuse. “I need to clean this cut, but your sink is too high.”

“Sorry, there wasn’t much I could do about it.” Before William could react, Peter lifted him up and set him on the counter.

He stared wide-eyed. “Don’t do that again.”

“Why the cold shoulder? You asked me to be more romantic.”

“OK.” William pursed his lips. “Personal knee-jerk reaction aside, it was a little romantic.”

Peter gave a satisfied smirk and took off his wig to vigorously shake out his locks. They were bright as a supernova against his tanned skin, transforming him into yet another configuration of handsome.

“How's your hand?” he asked as William tore off the medical tape.

“A little sore, but it's just superficial. At least it's not my buzzer hand.”

“Yeah, if we need to amputate.”

“Shut up.” He began unwrapping it and shivered. “Ugh, I hate blood. Especially if it’s mine.”

“Well, well, Dr. Whalen has a weakness,” Peter chirped and took over. William wasn't sure what was more unnerving to stare at; the wound or the man he’d officially fallen for. “Good grief, you mangled it!” Peter hissed and held it under the water.

“R-Really?” William still couldn’t look at either. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

“Ah, wait, it’s just a bunch of dried gunk.” Peter gently caressed his palm, and it tingled through him. “ _Look at that,_ it’s sealed right up.”

“Rusty said it was a special adhesive made with like, stem cells.”

“Where the heck did he get those?” Peter asked quietly.

William wrinkled his nose. “Probably better not to ask.” He flexed his hand. “It really doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Good, because there’s lots we’ll need two hands for.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“So the Ventures gave you their super secret serum, but did they kiss it better too?”

William scoffed. _“Tch,_ no.”

“Then they ain’t very good doctors, are they?” Peter asked. He brought William’s palm to his lips and kissed it fondly, with a strangely chaste devotion.

“That’s unsanitary,” William whispered as he swooned.

“I just can’t win with you,” Peter said and dropped his pants.

“Well that’s a segue.”

“You want me to shower in my suit? Friggin’ weirdo.” He unbuttoned his shirt and William loosened his own tie. Maybe it'd help him breathe. “Hey turn on the radio, will ya? There’s a knob right there.”

William spotted the fancy contraption on the wall, and 10cc played on a slow jam station. He'd had always considered it a romantic song, but lyrically it brought all his doubts bubbling back up. Perhaps it was a sign from the universe.

_It’s just a silly phase I’m going through._

“Oh gosh, way to kill the mood,” Peter said, and William frantically skimmed through channels. “No, God,” Peter groaned when he landed on the Top 40. “I cannot hear _Willennium_ for the thousandth time tonight.”

Billy changed it again. “Disco?” Can’t get bummed out with that.

“That’s fine.”

Peter had now undressed, and for some odd reason William turned away in embarrassment, like a last ditch effort to pretend men repulsed him.

“Don’t worry about word gettin’ out, OK?” Peter said as he turned on the water. “Rumors come with the territory of being famous, but I think as colleagues we got tons of plausible deniability. Besides, Jamina said she’d cover for us.”

William stared at him in disbelief. “You _told_ her?”

“Oh, I didn’t need to. She said, ‘so how long have you been sleeping with him’ — And I couldn’t hide the look on my stupid face to deny it well enough. So I just spilled my guts." Peter shrugged. “Felt nice.”

Seemed tonight wasn't just a freak accident. “If the villains don't blackmail us, maybe she will,” William grumbled.

“ _Us?_ She's like totally gay,” Peter countered. “Maybe I should've realized that's why we got along so good.”

"I mean, people you trust can stab you in the back. You told me that yourself."

"Only if I piss her off or she loses her job security.” He stepped into the enormous multi-headed shower. “But she’s like a kid sister to me — and she adores _you_. You see how she gets when you’re around. It's only _my_ bony ass on the line.” The half-frosted door slid shut.

Neither of them truly understood why they were doing this, in the logical sense. They both liked women and had no trouble getting their affection. Dating one wouldn’t be living a lie, but sneaking around with another man demanded deception, creating a precarious house of cards. Public opinion was one thing, and William defied it repeatedly, but he couldn’t bring a boyfriend home to his God-fearing mother.

But then again, the answer was simple, and always had been; no girlfriend ever made him feel this way.

“ _Oh yeah, that’s the stuff,”_ Peter sighed as he shampooed his scalp. “I might take you up on that hair dye offer.”

William glanced over and saw the blurred form become shades lighter right in front of his eyes. Peter was used to hiding in a way he wasn’t. Being a different man behind closed doors was just par for the course, and maybe William could learn too.

“Are you ogling me, pally?” Peter asked.

“What?” William giggled nervously. “N-No.”

“No? _Ouch.”_

“I mean... Y-You know what I mean.” William swallowed. “Hey, save hot water for the rest of us. I’ve been sweating bullets all night.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

A new song played over the speaker, a slow warbling voice, a growing disco beat.

“Oh wow, this song takes me back,” Peter chuckled.

“What is this?” William asked. “A poor man’s ‘Don’t Leave Me This Way?’”

“Oh, fuck off. It’s Bacarra.”

“I don’t know what that is,” William admitted. “And I have a career in knowing everything.”

“Ugh, I guess even thirty-year-olds are too young for me.”

“You wanna try again when I’m thirty-five?” William quipped back. “Maybe you can date that Leslie for a while, I think she’s into you.”

“No dice. She’s married. At my age, it’s hard to find a babe that isn't spoken for.” That actually explained _a lot_ , though fame should’ve given him the pick of the litter _._ “Hey Billy.”

“Hmm?”

“Look.” Pete’s finger swiped the fogged glass, drawing a heart, and William let out a surprised laugh. He then wrote their initials.

“You wrote them backwards, you idiot,” William said.

“ _Oh goddamnit,”_ he grumbled. “I was tryin’ to be suave.”

A bashful smile bloomed across William’s lips, but he then composed himself. He was smarter than this.

“Do you do this to the girls who watch you shower?” he asked.

“I told you, no one's seen me as my natural self.” Peter began singing along off-key.

Reality hit him. Peter danced around the subject because he feared rejection so deeply. Here he was attempting to convey, in actions rather than words, how _desperately_ he wanted this to work.

Over the years William learned that his heart was too big, too naïve, and he did his best to protect it. At some point this realist attitude became another wall — Only this time not so 'polite', and more like William plugging his ears to a man crying out for his love. After all, Peter had thrown an entire party just to bring William back into his life.

“I think this next century’s gonna be all about us,” Peter mused. “Sharin’ the wealth and such. _That said…”_ He slid open the door. “You know there’s room in this shower for two.”

Some claimed the end of century would bring the end of the world. Maybe William's old world had ended, and here he was, stepping into a new one with his favorite person by his side.

\---

After a night of so many gifts, one would assume something was expected from William in return. But again Peter showered him with generous physical affection, like a persuasion to stay. Time escaped from them, the snowfall outside growing brighter every minute, but tonight they didn’t care. Everything was different now.

Some 1950s schlock played on the large TV while the two sprawled at the end of the bed, laughing and indulging in their third round of room service. A dessert course of chocolate bonbons, strawberry cream puffs, and patisserie William had only read about in books. Peter took a sip from a half-empty champagne bottle and passed it to William. To an outsider it would all seem like an exercise in unfettered hedonism, but in fact it was a celebration of a revelation. Two people from different worlds both wanted the same goal: a future together.

“I have a question,” William said after a long swig. “What kind of loser says ‘wowie zowie’ in bed?”

“It's what I was feelin’ in the moment.” Peter rolled closer. “Now I got a question for you. What kind of nerd-o-tron takes off his watch but leaves on his garters?”

“My feet get cold.” Peter continued staring. "Besides, I think it’s bullshit that men don’t get an equivalent to lingerie.”

“Nerd,” he said in mock disgust, though his gaze held adoration.

“You met me on a game show for insufferable nerds, you knew what you were getting.” William handed back the bottle. “And now that I've met your friends, it seems like this was always the company you kept.”

"We've all had our Cinderella stories since then," he said flippantly.

"Is that why you invited me to the super science ball?"

Peter wore a smug grin. “I did real good, didn't I?” He held out the champagne bottle like a microphone. “So, now you had the best night of your life, courtesy of yours truly. How do you feel?”

“Like your parvenu,” William joked.

Peter furrowed his brow, still smiling as his eyes searched William’s for a clue. “The hell does that mean?”

“Loved,” William admitted, in the tenderest voice that ever left his lips.

Peter’s smarmy persona wavered, and William saw the man behind that final mask of defense. “Don't you ever go doubting,” he said, emotion in his throat.

They weren't simply lovers, or even boyfriends. They were quite possibly soulmates. William was done with logic, finished putting self-preservation over his happiness. And Peter believed that one day, _soon,_ they'd have their metaphorical day in the sun. The millennium _would_ be bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wheezes* I am so out of my element with like allosexual romance, but on further reflection 'disabled love' has been a consistent theme in all my work, so if I do good it's an extension of that. Sorry for the cut-to-black cop outs, but also factoring in the above, I love ambiguity.
> 
> I hope ten-ton-2021 is good to you! Go get emotionally swole, recalibrate your life, bury that severed head you talk to, be the henchman of the future. I think I'm gonna take another hiatus, so I hope this keeps you fed and happy for the holiday. 
> 
> Thanks so much for the support over this hell year. I started writing this in 2019 when my friend and I were both having like mental breakdowns, and it's really kept me as sane as possible during an even weirder year. I'll feel saner when we get the show back (I say 'when', I am speaking it into existence) but you all have been really great and I cherish you. :')
> 
> (ETA: wow my sense of time is so skewed I didn't realize today's my 7th anniversary with my qpp. How timely)

**Author's Note:**

> Plugging [my main blog](http://television-for-dinner.tumblr.com/tagged/fic+stuff), my [my art/fanworks blog](http://tommytonebender.tumblr.com). I also have a [Writing Twitter](http://twitter.com/retr0vertig0)!


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